Addicts Never Lie
by AtreidesHeir
Summary: Wilson struggles with a difficult decision while House continues his recovery. Story deals with drug dependency and depression. Chapters 40 and 41 are now up. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1: Confirmation

Author's note: I wrote this one day at work and I decided to post it. I have no idea where I am going with it or if I will even continue to write it. Please review and any constructive criticism or comments are appreciated.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter One: Confirmation

He heard the familiar rattle of the pill bottle from the next room and had to restrain his tongue when House came out of the bedroom and plopped down in the leather chair across from him. He had tried to confront him earlier that day and was still licking his wounds from their verbal fight. He wanted so badly to just have an actual conversation with House but, his better judgment told him not pry or make any comments, and House didn't offer any.

Around 9 p.m. he took the two plates, one empty, the other nearly full and washed them, placing them in the drying rack before walking to the fridge. He walked back into the living room with two beers, of which House took one obligingly. They didn't say more than ten words to each other for the rest of the night and watched TiVo in silence until midnight, when Wilson announced that it was time for him to go to bed.

House walked into the bedroom as Wilson started to unfold blankets and adjust pillows on the couch. He heard House walk into the bathroom and close the door. Wilson stopped the rustling of the blankets, and waited as his heart beat faster, straining to hear any sounds from the bathroom down the hall.

Quietly he heard the medicine cabinet open, and the sound of pills tumbling out, followed by the trickling of a faucet being turned on. He sighed, releasing his breath. Despite all his denial and hopes his latest concerns and suspicions about House were slowly being confirmed. With all of his own personal problems he had only started to notice about a month ago, but he was closer to House than anyone and the strange behaviour was starting to build up.

He had become increasingly withdrawn, which wasn't anything new, but the fact that he had hardly talked to Wilson in the past week was unusual, even for him. He was having problems sleeping and despite Wilson's best efforts to keep him fed with yummy food, House picked at his plate each night pushing his food around, barely touching any of it. He had been skipping their usual lunch dates and was starting to show signs of weight loss.

He was moody and irritable, and got defensive if anyone questioned him or asked if anything was wrong. It was becoming even harder and harder to figure out what was going on, but for weeks now Wilson had been watching him like a hawk, causing him to seclude himself in his office or bedroom avoiding Wilson at all costs.

_You can't keep this up forever House, _he thought to himself sadly. _It's only getting worse._


	2. Chapter 2: Disturbed Sleep

Author's Note: I am glad that people are enjoying this story, but a little discouraged as to the hit/review ratio. For those of you wondering, this story will be strictly House/Wilson **friendship.** No romantic pairings of any kind are set for anytime in the future. Also thanks to Mike for his suggestions and continued devotion and patience when listening to my ramblings.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Two: Disturbed Sleep

Around 3 a.m. Wilson was woken up by the light of the refrigerator flooding into the living room. He heard things being shuffled around in the fridge, the door closing, and then the top being unscrewed off a bottle. He scrunched up his brow, and slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the harsh light. He heard the cupboard open and a glass being set on the countertop. The freezer was opened, followed by the slow clink, clink, clink of dropping ice.

Liquid was being poured and then sloshed in the glass, followed by the familiar sound of prescription pills being dumped into his best friend's palm. Although Wilson could tell that House was trying to be quiet and keep from waking him up, the pills tumbling out could be heard distinctively. In the nearly silent apartment the rattling was loud and noisy, filling the air.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch, rubbing his forehead. He stood up and stumbled slowly into the entrance to the kitchen. He found House standing next to the fridge, leaning against the countertop, slowly sipping from a glass full of bourbon. He was dressed in a Who t-shirt and boxers and as he shifted his weight uncomfortably, Wilson noticed that he had left his cane in the bedroom.

_Leaving your cane in the bedroom so that the sound of you walking wouldn't wake me? Sneaky._

"Can't sleep?"

House nodded and took another sip as their eyes locked for a moment and then just as quickly, he turned away, staring out the kitchen window into the empty darkness.

"Want some company?" Wilson asked hopefully.

House shook his head, still not turning to face him. "No, you need to go back to sleep. You've got to be up and getting ready at the crack of dawn."

Wilson frowned. "So do you."

"I'm not getting up before 9 a.m. and I'm never on time, tomorrow shouldn't be any exception", he said with a smirk that Wilson didn't see.

Wilson chuckled a little.

"Bourbon and pills aren't exactly going to help if you can't get to sleep, you know?

House shrugged his shoulders but didn't say anything. Wilson knew that he would have to give House a push to get him to talk about what had been going on lately.

"Look, I know that you have been having problems sleeping and you've completely lost your appetite. I can't remember the last time I saw you eat a full meal. You've been hiding out in the clinic from Cuddy and the kids for a week, which is really weird, and now you're even avoiding me." He waited for some reaction, but House still had his back to him, and he couldn't read any expressions on his face.

"I don't want to sound like a nag-."

"Then don't," House shot back quickly as he slammed his glass down on the counter, slowly turning around to face him.

Wilson's warm brown eyes pierced into House's baby blues. House looked away and took another sip.

"I just want to know what's going on."

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Ah, those two magic words that, unbeknownst to House, immediately told Wilson that something was wrong. House normally said those words to get people to leave him alone, but Wilson knew better. He now pretty much had proof that House was hiding something, but was at a loss as to how to find out what it was.

It would take a delicate balance of words and actions and judging by the way House was acting Wilson knew he was already walking a thin line. He knew that if he pushed too hard or pried too much, House would just put his full defenses up again against everyone, including him.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a moment before he grabbed the bourbon and started walking out of the kitchen. The ice clanked loudly against the glass as he limped past entering into the living room, making his way back towards the bedroom. As he turned the corner and started down the hallway, Wilson began to follow him.

"Why have you been avoiding me lately?" Wilson asked him. "We need to talk about this."

"**We** don't need to talk about anything. **You** need to talk about it, and that is fine with me. I just don't want to be the one that you talk to."

"House, I think you-…I'm-," Wilson stuttered looking for the right words. "I remember the last time you acted like this-"

"Go to bed Wilson", he said without looking back.

Wilson watched as he slowly reached his bedroom and shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3: The Package

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed, and I am sorry about the wait, but I have been busy moving. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and please review, it helps to let me know if I should change anything, and I'd also like input on if the story is flowing well.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Three: The Package

Wilson woke up the next morning and quietly started to get ready for work. It was about 7 a.m. and he knew that House wouldn't be up for at least another hour, so he made an effort to be extra quiet as he took care of his blankets and pillows, before gathering his things to head for the bathroom. He showered, and then brushed his teeth and hair, deciding to skip his normal blow drying routine, knowing that House was a light sleeper and had already complained that it made too much noise in the morning.

He finished buttoning his new light green shirt with matching dark green tie and had just sat on the toilet getting ready to put on his immaculately white socks when he heard the front doorbell ring. He looked at his watch, it was 7:45 a.m., still a bit early, but he hoped that House would hear the knocking, wake up and answer it.

After the second round of knocks and still no sound coming from the bedroom, he sighed loudly. He shoved the right sock on, grumbling as he hobbled out of the bathroom, his left foot still bare, clutching the other sock in his left hand. He walked down the hallway and quickly deposited the sock on the back of the couch as he walked towards the front door.

He peeked through the peephole and saw a man in his mid-twenties standing at the door wearing a United States Postal Service uniform holding onto a small package. He unlatched the deadbolt and opened the door, standing in the entrance as the man looked up and smiled to greet him.

"Good morning is Gregory House available?" he asked.

"Not right now, but I'm his roommate. Can I help you?"

"I have a package for him, and I figured since I had other stuff to deliver in this building, I would deliver it to the door instead of putting it in the mailbox." he said as he held out the tiny package. Wilson looked down at the package inquisitively, but didn't reach for it.

"Do I have to sign for it?" he asked hesitantly, he didn't know how House would feel about him receiving his mail.

"No, I don't think so, let me check," he said as he looked down onto his log sheet. He shook his head, "Doesn't say anything about a signature."

"Ok, um, he is asleep, and I am on my way out the door to go to work, can I just accept it and I'll be sure that he gets it?"

The young man smiled and nodded, handing the package over to Wilson. He watched him as he picked up his delivery bag and walked away before quietly closing the door. He walked over to the couch, grabbed his other sock and sat down. He put it on and then picked up the package again, looking at it closely. It was small and rectangular shaped, just big enough to not fit in his hand. It was wrapped in plain brown shipping paper, and a closer look revealed that it had only a plain label on the front addressed to House, but no return address.

He sat for a moment before looking over his shoulder beyond the couch, and down the hallway to make sure that House wasn't lurking before holding the box up to his ear, gently shaking it. His eyes opened wide as he heard the familiar and distinctive sound of rattling pills inside a prescription bottle. His mind tried not to jump to conclusions as he sat wondering why House would be ordering pills, presumably online, and not asking Wilson for them.

He stood up and with the package in hand, walked down the hallway towards House's bedroom door. He stopped at the door and raised his hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking gently. He stood outside waiting, and was surprised when he didn't hear the usual stirring coming from inside. He knocked again, louder this time, and called out House's name, waiting patiently for an answer. When none came, he held out his left hand and slowly turned the knob, opening the door.

Inside he found the usual mess, clothes were strewn about everywhere, fifty or so dog-eared books cluttered the room, and a take out box from a few nights ago sat untouched on the night table, but no sign of his best friend. He walked back out into the living room, sat the package on the table, and had started to gather his work things when he noticed that House's bag and shoes were missing. He hadn't heard him leave this morning, but his missing personal belongings were a clear indication that he had slipped out before Wilson had gotten up.

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed his lunch out of the fridge, then his briefcase, and finally the package, before walking over to the coat closet. He opened the door and took out his jacket, reaching into his right inside pocket for his keys. They had both agreed that with the impending divorce and Wilson's uncertain living arrangement, his mail should be delivered to House's apartment until he found his own place.

He took the keys out, put the jacket on and slipped on his shoes, before walking outside into the hallway, locking the front door behind him. He walked over to the mailbox, inserted the key, opened the door, and then deposited the package inside. As he latched the lid shut, he furled his brow, reaching his left hand instinctively to the back of his neck, rubbing gently.

_What the hell is going on with you now House?_


	4. Chapter 4: Waiting

Author's Note: Keep those reviews coming if you want more. Yes I'm evil and I know I'm being a bastard about it, but I really don't care. To those of you who have been reviewing, thanks.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Four: Waiting

House had gotten up early that morning, popped a vicodin, and then quickly got dressed. He avoided his usual morning shower, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. In fact, the only sound that could be heard throughout the apartment as he got ready **was **a mouse. Well actually a rat, he thought to himself, as he stopped for a moment to watch Steve McQueen as he ran inside his cage on his new shiny little metal wheel.

He walked out into the living room and grabbed his jacket from the closet, patting it to make sure his spare bottle of pills was tucked safely in the inside left pocket. He looked down at Wilson, who was sound asleep on the couch, as he put on his shoes before grabbing his bag off the floor by the door. He was as quiet as someone who walked with a cane could possibly be, but wasn't too worried about Wilson getting woken up if he made a little noise. It was common knowledge that Wilson had always been a deep sleeper, something that House had often envied about him, considering that for most of his life he had suffered from insomnia.

He managed to slip out the front door a right at 7 a.m., knowing that Wilson's alarm would soon be going off. He put on his helmet and got onto his motorcycle, wheeling it down the street about a half a block before starting it up. The sun was just coming up on the horizon and he could fell the motorcycle rumble under him as he drove off towards his destination.

On the way he stopped at McDonalds, ordering coffee and a bagel sandwich, which he shoved into the compartment on the back of the bike. He arrived a few minutes after 7:30 a.m. and started to eat his breakfast as he waited outside the old brick building. He actually had a bit of an appetite and ate slowly, savoring the sausage bagel dripping with cheese as he sipped on the coffee.

He looked down at his watch as he swallowed the last remaining bite, and crumbled the wrapper up, tossing it back in the bag. It was 7:37 and as he dismounted the bike and walked towards the entrance, other people started to arrive in the parking lot. He walked over and deposited the bag and cup in the garbage and then went through the front, walking directly to the back of the lobby area to sit on a padded wooden bench.

Several people were also shuffling inside, smiling at him as they walked past concentrating on accomplishing their own business. Some were putting money in machines, while others were grabbing forms or looking through the showcase at the recent releases of collector's sets that had been shown on display for all to see. He turned to the left and saw several people being waited on and a line being formed, but was disappointed when there was no sign of what he was waiting for.

He rolled his eyes and started thumping his cane on the floor loudly, growing impatient. He held out his right hand and looked down at his watch again, annoyed that only a few minutes had past. He shifted on the bench uncomfortably, growing anxious with each passing moment. He tilted his head back and let out a sigh as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his vicodin.

He popped the white lid and tilted the bottle until two fell into his palm. He replaced the lid and put the bottle back in his pocket, looking down at the tiny white pills for a moment before putting them in his mouth, swallowing them dry. He sat continuing to thump his cane on the floor, getting increasingly irritated as he watched the minutes pass on the clock above the front entrance until it was ten minutes to 8 a.m.

He pulled out his cell phone, went to contacts, highlighted the desired number and hit send. It rang two times before someone answered.

"Yes, my package was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago and it hasn't arrived yet," he said to the customer service representative on the other end. He tried to be as patient as possible as he gave her his client I.D. and the tracking number of the package, and then waited for her to check on its status.

"Sir, it shows on the electronic log that the package was already delivered about fifteen minutes ago."

"No, it hasn't," he said, his voice rising. "I am sitting at the post office in front of my P.O. box and I am sure that I would have noticed if someone had put a package inside it."

"Give me just a moment to check," she said typing. "Sir, we show that the package was delivered, but it was sent to the billing address."

"No!" he said shouting, as he lost what little patience he had left. "I called a week ago to place my order, and I specifically requested that it be sent to the post office box and not my home address until further notice."

"I'm sorry sir. There must have been a mistake, that request was never relayed to the shipping department," she said slowly, hearing the anger in his voice. "I apologize for the inconvenience and I am personally correcting it now, and I assure you it won't happen again. I just need the post office box number and you'll be all set."

He could barely keep the venom out of his voice as he told her the information that she needed. He hung up immediately after she confirmed the new mailing address, and cursed as he grabbed his cane and headed towards the front door. He started up the bike and headed back towards the apartment, breathing a sigh of relief when he rounded the corner and saw that Wilson's beige Volvo was gone.

He pulled the bike up to the front of the apartment and parked it, hopping off and making a beeline for the mailbox. He hobbled up the two stairs and opened the main door as he looked down at his keys, finding the one for the mailbox. He inserted the key, turned the latch and opened the door. He smiled as he saw the package and reached inside to retrieve it.

He walked over to his front door, opened it and stepped inside. He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the couch as he walked into the hallway, heading towards his room. He opened the bedroom door, walked over to the bed and sat down.

He looked at the package and was relieved to see that they had at least wrapped it as requested, before opening it up and quickly removing the prescription bottle from inside. Carefully he began to peel the label off the bottle, leaving behind only orange plastic and the white lid. He stood up and walked over to the dresser placing the bottle on top, next to his lamp slightly hidden between two books.

He walked out of his bedroom, closing the door tightly behind him, and then walked down the hallway. He grabbed his jacket off the couch and locked the front door on his way out. It was almost 8:45 by time he reached the hospital, and as he snuck past the front desk he heard the nurses say that Cuddy was already on the warpath and was searching for him. He managed to make it to his office, grab a magazine, and duck into an unoccupied exam room without setting off her radar.

All morning he stayed hidden, occasionally seeing a patient, giving him a legitimate reason for being in the room, and everyone left him alone. That is, until lunchtime, when Wilson finally had time to track him down.


	5. Chapter 5: Secrecy

Author's Note: I have been really busy this last week working 13 hours on some days, so writing has not been my priority. I am extremely grateful to those who keep reviewing. Again, this is short, but I can't seem to write them any longer. I will try to get the next out sooner in compensation.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Five: Secrecy

That morning upon arriving at PPTH, Wilson had been immediately overwhelmed with needy patients and staff. By noon he had already diagnosed two patients with terminal cancer, one being a six-year-old girl, and had calmed down a hysterical intern whose boyfriend had just dumped her. When he finally had a chance to take a break, he decided to find House and ask him if he was in the mood for lunch.

Not surprisingly he didn't find him in his office, considering that lately he rarely spent his time there. Cameron, who was sitting in the conference room with the boys, was the only one to raise her head as she noticed him stop and look in the office. He smiled at her as he passed, continuing down to the clinic. A quick reach over the counter and glance on the chart confirmed that House was in exam room two, supposedly with a patient named Sarah Roberts.

Wilson returned the chart to the nurse, and then casually walked over to exam room two, noticing that the blinds were drawn before knocking on the door softly. When no answer came from within, he slowly opened the door to find House sitting on the exam table, his legs hanging over the side, with his bad leg folded over his good leg, reading an issue of GLOBE.

"You know, this little hide-and-seek game of yours is becoming pretty predictable," Wilson said putting his hands on his hips as he entered the room and then shut the door.

"Doesn't matter, Cuddy doesn't care as long as I see some patients while I'm in here," he said without looking up from the magazine. "Plus, I'm always right where she can find me if she wants to play doctor. She's even got her own stethoscope."

"I really don't think that two patients over a two and a half hour period qualifies," Wilson said. "Besides, the log says that you're with a patient right now, but you aren't. So it is probably safe to say that the nurses have already ratted on you and she will come looking for you soon."

"They were tricky cases, took longer than usual to figure out what was wrong with them. Besides, by the time she finds me I will be talking to you, possibly a consult, bad case of cancer, I don't know, make something up…," he said as he reached down and lifted his right leg. As he did so, Wilson noticed a grimace as he placed it gently on the table, but no quick reach into his left inside pocket for the vicodin that Wilson knew was there.

"Aren't you about due for a refill?" Wilson asked trying to sound casual.

House of course picked up on the tone right away and immediately felt irritated.

"Not until Tuesday," he replied with a touch of annoyance in his voice as he rolled up the magazine, sticking it under his arm as he slowly, carefully slid off the table. He grabbed his cane from its resting place, leaned against the counter, and walked past Wilson out into the lobby without another word.

Wilson stood for a moment before instinctively turning to follow. He had noticed over the past week that House's annoyance tolerance level had also dropped tremendously, something that in the past he had always kept in check. If the conversation veered towards something that he didn't want to talk about, he simply made a snide comment and walked away, often times leaving people in mid-sentence.

What alarmed Wilson the most was that lately he had started to treat him the exact same way.

House was already standing in front of the nurse's desk, handing the nurse on duty a chart by the time that Wilson caught up with him. He stood patiently behind him as he passed her the clipboard and wrote his name on the log.

"Twelve thirteen p.m., Dr. House checks out for lunch. Write that down," he said as she put her initials on the chart. She smiled at him and jotted down the time as he turned and started to walk away from the counter.

"Want to grab some lunch? My treat," Wilson asked hopefully as he started to walk toward the double doors out into the main hallway.

House stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him.

"Sure, but I have to pee first," he said as he started walking again, changing direction to head for the bathroom. As he did, Wilson noticed him close his eyes for just a moment as he shifted his weight painfully onto his bad leg.

"I have to go, too," Wilson chimed in, starting to follow.

Despite his best attempt to hide it, he was obviously in pain, and Wilson had a pretty good idea of what he was going to the bathroom for, and it wasn't to use the facilities. For over a week now he hadn't seen him take a single vicodin, and neither had anyone else around him. The kids had noticed the lack of pill-popping and the fact that he was becoming more agitated and immediately suspected that something was wrong. They showed up in Wilson's office asking all sorts of question, but it only took a few well placed words from Wilson to reassure them that he was fine.

What they didn't know, however, was that Wilson was lying to them. House was definitely not fine.

To most, having him hide out and willingly do clinic was a blessing, but to Wilson it was just another behavioral change. Ever since he had been hired at PPTH he had hated the clinic, to the point where most of the time he would do just about anything to get out of it. So when he started hanging out there all the time Wilson knew that it wasn't because he wanted to help out.

It seemed that no matter how many new spots he found, Cuddy learned most of his hiding spots within days, and when he came up missing she would eventually find him. But House was smart, and he quickly caught on to the fact that as long as he was in the clinic, she left him alone. Wilson knew that he was avoiding everyone, and it was easier for him to deal with patients that didn't know how to react to him than it was to deal with the people that knew his manipulative tricks.

He had also always been up front with everyone about his vicodin use, to the point where some had even accused him of flaunting it. But now, it seemed that he was hiding it, or at least waiting until no one was around to take any, which in Wilson's opinion, was pretty much the same thing.

They both walked into the men's room, Wilson walked to a urinal, while House stepped into a stall, closing the door behind him. Wilson had quietly finished, washed his hands and was wiping them with a paper towel when House spoke.

"Uh, I'm going to be a few minutes. Why don't you go ahead without me? Grab me a bag of chips and an orange soda, ok?"

"Ok," Wilson replied as he walked to the door. He opened it, stepped outside but then quickly and quietly curled his fingers around the door stopping it from closing by only an inch. He stood quietly with his ear in the crack of the door, waiting. It only took a few seconds after his deceptive exit for him to clearly hear the sound of the pill bottle lid being popped as House quickly took his meds.

Wilson shut his eyes and closed the door the rest of the way. He reached his left hand behind his neck and started rubbing as he slowly walked away from the bathroom and headed toward the cafeteria.

_Why is he hiding this?_ He thought to himself.

But as much as Wilson wanted to deny it, his behavior was starting to create a pattern.


	6. Chapter 6: Confrontation

Author's Note: See I told you that I would post again soon. I am good! WOOT! Anyways, hopefully the last few chapters have been better for everyone. Keep those reviews coming if you want more!

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Six: Confrontation

Wilson had already paid for their food and had started eating by the time House had returned from the bathroom. As he stepped though the doors of the cafeteria, Wilson immediately noticed a huge difference in the way that he looked and walked. He had obviously waited for the vicodin to kick in before attempting to leave the restroom.

House joined him at the table and quickly snagged his soda and chips from Wilson's tray, along with a few French fries that hadn't been protected from his greedy fingers. Wilson had chosen their usual table in the back corner away from the others, knowing that House liked to watch the other people.

Wilson had been starving by the time lunch came around and was hungrily downing his food but it didn't stop him from noticing that although House ate the French fries that he had snagged, he had barely touched his chips or soda. There seemed to be an air of tension between them as he picked at his food in silence, fully aware that Wilson was watching his every move. After half the soda was gone he stood up and headed for the door without saying a word.

Wilson had wanted to say something to stop his friend, but House had been clever and planned his escape when he saw that Wilson had taken an abnormally large bit of his sandwich. He took his food to the trash, and without even glancing behind him he knew that it wouldn't take long for Wilson to be on his heels again.

Wilson quickly chewed and swallowed the chunk of sandwich, almost painfully, and then took a large swig of water to clear his throat. He re-wrapped the sandwich and put the top on his water as he stood from the table and headed for the exit. He disposed of the trash, but kept the half-uneaten sandwich and water for later as he made a beeline for the door.

He exited the cafeteria and entered the hallway to find House only about 40 feet ahead of him, heading for the elevator, apparently heading for his office for once.

"House, wait up," he said as he quickened his pace to catch up with him, noticing House's body language go into what he called "defense mode" as he approached.

He caught up to him and resumed his usual stride as they walked together towards the elevator doors. They rode in silence until they hit their desired floor.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he asked just as the doors flew open.

House turned to him and shot him an annoyed look.

"I told you, I'm fine," he insisted as they exited and he started toward his office.

"Yeah, and the way that you've been acting totally confirms that," Wilson said sarcastically, hoping to grab his attention long enough for him to stop walking.

However, he didn't and Wilson followed him right into his office.

As House sat down Wilson made the decision that no matter what House did, he was going to find out what was going on. He walked up to the chair in front of the desk and stood there watching him as he got out his Gameboy and turned it on. It was a clear indication that House wanted to be left alone, but Wilson didn't walk away. After a moment House looked up and rolled his eyes, sighing heavily.

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?" House asked as little noises started to emit from the game.

Wilson put his hands on his hips, and braced himself for whatever happened next.

"I am not being dramatic. In fact, I have stood by and hardly said a word for over a month now as you have descended into whatever the hell it is that is going on with you."

"What, you got cheated on and now you have no one to fight with, so you figured that you'd start in on me?" he asked not looking up. "Go find yourself another wife and leave me alone."

The comment was intended to shut Wilson up, and although it stung a bit, he didn't back down.

"That crap isn't going to work on me, House."

Exasperated, House paused his game and looked up. "You really want more?" he challenged. "Remember what happened the last time you did this?"

"Do **you** want more?" Wilson suddenly shot back with anger.

"You've almost completely lost your appetite and you're losing weight. You have insomnia, increased agitation and moodiness. You've been withdrawing and avoiding the others, and now you don't want to talk to anyone, including me. And you don't even want to get me started on the pills. DO NOT for one second think that everyone around you hasn't noticed that something isn't right," he said as he stared down at his best friend.

House just rolled his eyes and went back to playing his game. Wilson stood staring at him, playing the list of symptoms back in his head. The more he thought about it the more he started to realize that House's behavior had been slowly changing for awhile now.

He slowly looked down at House, his brown eyes filled with concern.

"This has been going on for awhile hasn't it?" he asked.

House continued to play his game and tried his best to ignore him, but the years that he had spent with Wilson had given him an advantage. He picked up on subtle body movements and changes of breath that no one else around him seemed to ever notice. They told him that he was clearly delving into a territory that made House uncomfortable.

"You've been struggling and I've been too busy dealing with Julie and the divorce to notice, but it all makes sense now."

Suddenly House dropped his Gameboy on the desk and stood up. He walked over to the sliding glass door and opened it, stepped outside, leaving Wilson standing in front of his desk. Wilson quickly followed and found him leaning on the edge close to the brick wall that divided their offices. His elbows were on the ledge, hands clasped together, as he looked down onto the hospital grounds below. They stood next to each other for several moments before Wilson spoke.

"Are you just going to start ignoring me again?"

"My mom always told me that if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all," House retorted, still gazing down.

"Like that has ever stopped you before," Wilson replied. "You have one of the biggest mouths that I have ever known, why the sudden loss for words."

House shrugged.

"Is that why lately you spend all your time in the clinic? Because the patients don't have the bullshit radars installed that the rest of us do and a few well placed words shut them right up? Wilson asked. "And I know that you didn't stop taking the pills, so why are you suddenly not taking them in front of anyone?"

"That whole get a new wife thing, I meant it. Go find one… the sooner the better. I'll even help if you want me too. I'd actually pick out a good one," House said starting to get really irritated.

Wilson leaned up against the edge of the wall, watching him.

"Why do you have to make things so difficult for me?" Wilson asked softly. "I can see you acting like this with Cuddy or the kids, but not with me. I know more about you than anyone else I know and you don't have to keep up act with me."

"I already told you that I am fine and you don't have to worry."

"You're my best friend. I've know your for over 9 years, and I know when something is wrong. I am worried about you," Wilson stated.

"How many times do I have to tell you that there is nothing to worry about?" House practically yelled.

"Do you keep saying that to try and convince me, or are you hoping that if you say it enough that you will convince yourself?" Wilson shot back.

Finally House looked up at him, his eyes filled with so much anger that Wilson almost took a few steps back. His last comment had obviously hit a nerve.

"Why are you suddenly pushing me? You've never acted this way before," he asked.

"House-," he began but was interrupted by his pager going off. He looked down at the tiny screen and sighed. "I have to go."

House looked back down and didn't acknowledge him.

"I'll bring Chinese food and beer home. Then we will talk….ok?"

Wilson stood for a moment waiting for an answer, but none came. As House stood and turned to walk past him, Wilson grabbed him by the arm and stopped him. Startled, House looked down at his arm, firmly in Wilson's grip, and then up at him.

"I'll be home about six o'clock. You'll be there, right?" Wilson asked hesitantly, looking into his eyes.

House nodded and he released his arm. Wilson stood and watched him go into his office and shut the door before hopping over the brick wall to attend to one of his patients.


	7. Chapter 7: The Argument

Author's Note: Loyalty is good. Thanks to those who keep reviewing. I'd like to Jazelle1996, who has been nice enough to do and impeccable job of being a beta for me from chapter 5 on. She has helped me a lot and deserves a gold star and many treats.

Also thanks to "A Elbereth" for the p.m. that was by far the best review I have ever read. I am an arrogant bastard and have an ego problem just like House, so the review you sent just inflated it twenty-fold.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Seven: The Argument

Wilson arrived at the apartment a little after six p.m., his arms full of Chinese take-away, beer, and his briefcase. He expected to find House lounging on the couch watching whatever his TiVo had recorded, but when he got there the lights were out. He fumbled with the keys, almost dropped the beer, but eventually managed to swing the front door open.

He walked blindly through the dark apartment, into the kitchen and set the food and beer on the countertop. He walked back into the living room and turned on the light next to the couch, and as he sat his briefcase next to the couch he noticed that House's bedroom door was shut. At first he thought that he might be avoiding him again, but the black Nikes that he had worn that day weren't by the side of the door, so Wilson knew that he wasn't there.

He shook his head and sighed as he walked back into the kitchen. He pulled out a beer, popped the cap and started drinking as he grabbed a plate from the cupboard and helped himself to the Chinese.

He walked into the living room, plopped down on the couch, and turned on the TV as he started to eat his food. It was after 8 p.m. by the time he finished watching a documentary on Arthur Conan Doyle, and had drank two more beers to go along with his food. When he was finished, he took his empty plate back into the kitchen and put it in the sink, purposefully dropping it harder than he should have out of the building anger inside him. He grabbed the leftover Chinese, closed up the containers then stuck them and the beer in the fridge for later.

He went back into the living room and picked up the phone then dialed the hospital. When he finally got through to someone he learned that House had left shortly before 6 p.m. and no one had seen him since. Frustrated, he slammed down the phone, but picked it back up a moment later and dialed the number to House's cell phone. It rang for a few seconds before he got an automated message that said: "The cellular subscriber you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message at the beep". Simply put, House had turned his phone off.

He left a message and went back over to sit on the couch. He waited for the next half an hour for House to call him, but he never did. Wilson picked up the phone again and paged him instead. He waited another half an hour, but again House never called him back.

By that point he was tired and pissed off, so he decided to take a shower. He quickly showered and was shaving when he cut himself deeply and started to bleed. He opened up the medicine cabinet to search for some band aids when he saw, next to the toothpaste tube, House had medication for constipation relief. Wilson knew of the common side effects of taking vicodin, and although he had to ask House at his yearly physical if he was experiencing any, House had always said no.

Wilson began to wonder what else House might be hiding from him. He decided he could no longer watch and do nothing as his friend continued down the road that he was headed. House had been exhibiting signs of a growing addiction for awhile now, and the fact that he was now suffering from constipation, and hiding how many pills he was taking, only seemed to prove that it was getting worse. That was enough for Wilson to rationalize doing something that he told himself he would never do: search House's apartment.

Knowing where to start first was easy because his second wife had been a big Meg Ryan fan and he had seen "When a Man Loves a Woman" so many times he knew where to start the hunt first. He started with House's kitchen, finding only beer. He then went into the living room and found only scotch and bourbon in House's liquor cabinet. He finally ended up in the bedroom, where he first tackled the closet and then under the bed.

After over an hour of looking Wilson still hadn't found anything, and as he was going through his drawers he started to feel guilty for having invaded his best friend's privacy. He finished rummaging through them and had given up when he happened to glance up and notice a prescription bottle carefully hidden between two books on top of the dresser.

It was a larger bottle, not the ones that House usually kept with him. Wilson carefully pushed the books aside and picked it up. It had no label, but being a doctor he had no problem identifying pills. Once he popped the lid and took out one of the small, oval white tablets he confirmed that it was vicodin. It was the cheaper generic brand, but still clearly hydrocodone.

Wilson put it back into the bottle and held it up eye level for him to inspect. There had to be close to 120 pills inside, way more than House should have considering that it was Friday and he was due the following Tuesday for a new script.

When he had first requested Wilson to up the dosage, he had refused. But as time went on he realized that House's pain wasn't decreasing and he was gradually developing a physical tolerance, which meant that he would eventually need his dosage adjusted from time to time to accommodate for the pain.

When Wilson finally did relent and agree to the dosage change, they ran into another problem. When House had tried to get his prescription refilled halfway through the month, the insurance company refused to let him have a refill before the refill date. Wilson had to plead with Cuddy, and it was only allowed after she had made a call and had it personally approved.

However, she made it clear to both of them that Wilson could only write for that specified amount and no increases would be allowed without her written approval. She also only allowed Wilson to prescribe 120 tablets at a time, the maximum allowed, with one refill. It could be refilled in the middle of the month, but that meant that every month Wilson had to write him a new script.

Wilson's quilt had quickly turned to a heated anger when he realized that the pills had been in the package that House had received earlier that morning.

He replaced the bottle back where he had found it and walked into the living room. He lay down on the couch and grabbed the remote, turning to a music channel on the TV. He was exhausted and within twenty minutes he was asleep.

It was around 11:30 p.m. when the sound of the door being opened woke him from his sleep. He opened his eyes and watched as House quietly shut the door and attempted to sneak past the couch and down the hallway to his room.

Wilson reached up and clicked on the reading light that was positioned over the couch and shielded his eyes as he practically blinded himself.

House stopped in his tracks and turned in Wilson's direction.

"Chinese is in the fridge, so is the beer," Wilson said pissed off. "I drank three of them so there are only three left," he added.

House nodded and continued on into his room. Wilson shut off the light, shut his eyes, and tried to get back to sleep. He could hear House rustling around in the bedroom and a few minutes later he was blinded by a harsh light when House flipped on the hallway light.

"Why were you in my room?" he asked accusingly.

Wilson sat up and looked directly at him.

"Honestly, I was worried and it seemed like a good idea at the time," he replied. It wasn't a justifiable excuse, even to him, but it was the only one that he had.

"**SO YOU WENT THROUGH MY THINGS**!" House shouted.

Wilson stood up and walked over to him, getting dangerously close to House's personal space.

"Why are you so pissed off about this? You're acting like a 14 year old girl whose father raided her room. You gave me no choice!" Wilson exclaimed, his voice also rising with anger. "You refused to talk to me, and then blew me off. What else was I supposed to think?"

"So, what? You think I am doing some other drugs now or something?"

"See House, that is part of the problem. I HAVE NO IDEA what you are doing anymore," Wilson said as he started to pace the floor.

House raised his cane and pointed it at him. "That DOES NOT give you the right to rummage through my personal things!"

Wilson scoffed. "Good thing I did. I found your secret stash of vicodin," he said coldly. He was to the point where he just didn't care what House said anymore.

If looks could kill, Wilson would have been stone-cold dead. House turned and slowly started to walk back to his bedroom.

"We need to talk about this," Wilson said. "You got a package today. The mail carrier delivered it before I left, and I stuck it in the mailbox….was it the Vicodin?"

"Actually it was heroin," House said trying to get a rise out of Wilson. "I use it recreationally on the weekend and the hookers love it."

It was Wilson's turn to shoot House a dirty look.

"Well, that pretty much answers my question," he said. "Where did you get it from?" he asked curiously.

"My dealer," House said as he turned and started walking down the hallway.

"Stop!" Wilson yelled practically pleading. "Stop walking away from me!"

House whirled around. "Why should I stop? You haven't given me a reason not to! All you want to do is interrogate me and yell at me, and quite frankly neither one of those sounds like very much fun to me."

"I want you to talk to me!" Wilson cried out. "Is it that difficult for you to have an actual conversation with me?"

"You of all people should know that isn't going to happen. Unlike you, I don't need to share my thoughts and feelings with others in the hopes that I will feel a false sense of happiness or security."

"No, you're scared to death to let anyone get close to you and when they try you shut down and pull away."

"I don't need to hear your psychobabble crap. Save that for your patients, they need it more than I do at the rate that they are dropping off," House said.

The words stung, but they were meant to. Wilson knew that, and he wasn't going to give House the satisfaction.

"What are you so afraid of? Are you afraid that if you talk to me I will find out that you are starting to lose control?" Wilson asked. "Well, too late House, that is already starting to happen and everyone around you knows what is going on."

House scoffed. "I take the pills because I am in pain. I may be an addict but I function and I am not losing control," he said through gritted teeth.

Wilson put one hand on his hip and pointed the other at House.

"How many do you take a day now?" he asked not breaking eye contact with House.

House breathed in deeply and turned his gaze away.

"See! You can't even look me straight in the face and tell me!" Wilson shouted, the rage building.

Wilson half expected him to walk away or start screaming again, but he didn't. He smirked at Wilson and walked over to his liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He poured himself a double shot and then reached into his pocket for his pills. Wilson watched and he slowly dumped three into his hand and then downed them with the scotch.

If the gesture was meant to piss of Wilson, it didn't. It only proved Wilson's point, which only made him push his friend harder.

"How long do you think that you can go on like this before you end up doing permanent damage to your liver?" Wilson asked desperately. "How long before the vicodin stops working completely and you have to change over to something stronger? For God's sake House, you're going to end up overdosing!"

"I'm not stupid and I'm not going to overdose. You're being dramatic again," House said.

"I am not being dramatic! House, you're going to end up killing yourself, and I refuse to stand by and watch you do it," Wilson said. "I want you…I need," he said as he started to stutter.

House knew that he only did that when he was really nervous or scared. Wilson stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. He looked right into House's eyes as he started to speak again. "I'm not going to prescribe for you anymore."

"How dare you-," he started to say, but Wilson interrupted him.

"I am not going to help you destroy yourself!" Wilson shouted, taking a step toward him. "Look at yourself! Have you even looked in a mirror lately?"

"Everyday," House replied.

"The only other time that I have seen you look this bad was when you had the breakdown after the infarction and Stacy left," Wilson began. "You look worse than you did last year when you went through detox to win that stupid bet with Cuddy. Your eyes are constantly bloodshot and you have huge dark circles under them. You can't sleep and you're constantly exhausted. The pills have messed with your system so much that you hardly eat anymore," Wilson said looking him up and down. "How much weight _have_ you lost House?"

"I need to watch what I eat to keep up my slender figure. If I don't, the beer and liqueur that I drink goes right to my ass and hips," he said attempting to make a joke.

But Wilson didn't find it funny.

"You are **at least** 20 lbs. underweight for your height," Wilson continued. "One of the reasons why I moved in here after I left Julie was because I knew that you weren't taking care of yourself and I thought I could help. I cooked huge gourmet meals for you that you barely touched and I did the dishes every night. I even hired a maid to clean up the pigsty that you were living in."

"I didn't ask you to do that Wilson, you did that on your own," House said getting annoyed again. "Everyone should call you St. Wilson, always looking out for his poor, pathetic, crippled friend."

"I did it because I care! Because you won't let anyone else get close enough to you!" Wilson shouted. He threw his hands up in the air and shook him head.

"I think that somewhere along the way you got a little confused as to what part you play in all this. You are not my mother, nor my boyfriend, nor my husband. You are supposed to be my friend, a friend who has known me long enough to know when to back the hell off."

"You want to know what?" Wilson asked sadly. "You're right, but you are supposed to be my friend too. A friend that I would like to think would trust me enough to know that you can come to me for help."

"I don't need your help," House said exasperated, as he shut his eyes tightly and leaned up against the wall for support. His leg was really beginning to bother him again.

"I have known you for a long time, but when I look at you now, standing here screaming at me…..I don't even recognize you anymore," Wilson said distressed.

"You know, for the longest time even though Stacy and I were friends, I was angry with her for leaving when you needed her the most," Wilson stated. "But I can see now how you drove her away, and now you're trying to do the same thing to me."

"Am I finally succeeding?" House asked.

Wilson shook his head and scoffed. "I'm not leaving," he stated firmly. "I am not going to be like her and give up on you."

"Well, you don't have a choice, now do you? This is my apartment and I don't want you here anymore," House practically growled.

"I am not going to leave and let you slip deeper into your addiction. I'm going to do everything that I can to get you to get the help that you need," Wilson said. "Tomorrow morning I am going to go to the hospital and I am going to tell the kids and Cuddy what is going on. This is no longer going to be a secret House."

House started to boil over with anger. "I want you OUT!" he shouted as loudly as he could, walking towards Wilson. He stopped just shy of a foot and looked down menacingly at him, his fist clenched.

"What are you going to do House, hit me?" Wilson asked as House took a few steps closer, completely infuriated. "Because of all the things that I am afraid of you doing, physically hurting me has never been one of them."

"Don't push me Wilson," House warned.

"There is also something else that I think you need to know," Wilson said hesitantly. "When I see Cuddy tomorrow I am going to recommend that you be put on medical leave until you agree to enter a treatment center. This has gone too far and in your current condition it is dangerous for you to treat patients," Wilson stated with sadness in his voice.

Enraged, House growled and quickly took a step closer, pushing Wilson hard. He stumbled backwards, with a shocked look on his face, and almost went crashing into an end table, but thankfully regained his footing just in time. He instinctively swiveled his upper body and grabbed the side of the table, managing to steady his balance. He stood hunched over, griping the table for support, breathing hard, and then turned and stared back at House, completely speechless.

"I want you gone by tomorrow," House said as he turned and grabbed his jacket off the top of the leather chair. He started for the door, his jacket tucked under his arm, and had his hand on the doorknob when Wilson found his voice.

"Where are you going?" Wilson asked with worry in his voice.

House opened the door and turned back to look at him. "As far away from you as I can."

"Perfect, run away from your problems like you always have" Wilson replied distraught.

House looked at him with venom in his eyes. "Don't wait up," he said and slammed the door behind him, leaving a shocked Wilson standing in his living room.


	8. Chapter 8: The Aftermath

Author's Note: Thanks to all who review. Thanks also to Jazelle1996 for all the help.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Eight: Aftermath

Wilson stood in House's living room and watched as his only friend slammed the door behind him in a whirl of fury, leaving him completely shocked. He heard House start up the motorcycle and take off down the street. It took a few moments before the aftermath of what had just happened between him and House was starting to register, and Wilson was starting to feel sick to his stomach.

_He actually pushed me_, Wilson thought.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like a bad dream and he was caught in the middle of it and couldn't wake up. He knew that House had felt trapped, and had expected him to lash out, but he **never** thought that House would physically try and hurt him. Just the thought sent shivers down Wilson's spine as he realized that his best friend no longer had control over himself anymore. He shut off the hallway light, walked slowly over to the couch, sat down, and put his head in his hands.

He was worried about House, but knew that looking for him when he didn't want to be found was pointless. The man could hide in the hospital for hours before Cuddy found him and besides, he had absolutely no idea where he had gone. So that left him with two options: stay up all night worrying, or try to get some sleep.

Wilson reluctantly chose sleep. He leaned back and lay down on the comfy leather couch, pulled the soft blankets up around him and shut his eyes. His head was swarming with thoughts, but he tried desperately to quiet them, and about an hour later he was asleep.

His alarm woke him up right on schedule at six o'clock that morning. He reached across the table, shut off the alarm, and then glanced quickly around the apartment. The first thing that he noticed was that House's bedroom door was still open and his shoes were missing from their usual place beside the door, meaning that he hadn't come back in the middle of the night.

He sat up slowly and grabbed his toiletry bag and clothes from the spot next to the couch where he had placed them the night before, and walked into the hallway. He went into the bathroom, showered, brushed his hair and teeth, and quickly got dressed. He grabbed his briefcase and put on his shoes, locked the front door and got in his car.

He entered the hospital and grabbed a quick cup of coffee from the cafeteria on the way to his office, but soon started to feel nauseous. He felt like a traitor and had been embarrassed for invading House's privacy, but he didn't know what else to do anymore. Watching his best friend slowly slip further into his addiction was almost more than he could take and he felt like he was losing him.

He had threatened House, but was he actually willing to go through with it?

Bringing his growing addiction to Cuddy's attention could permanently damage their already crumbling friendship. Right now he was walking on eggshells with House and he knew that it would only take one slip to destroy all the years of hard work he had put into developing his trust.

He walked into his office, sat his briefcase down, and slumped into his chair. The day hadn't even started yet, and he was already exhausted. He picked up the first chart on the top of a stack on his desk and started going over it. He needed to find a way to occupy his mind and distract him.

It was shortly after noon before he got all of the charting done and had already seen a patient for a consult before he had the time to call Cuddy and say that he needed see her. He sighed as he hung up the phone, and headed down to her office.

He arrived at her door and glanced inside to see her seated at her desk, a huge pile of paperwork in front of her. He held his left hand up to her door and tapped gently on the glass, drawing her attention. She looked up and motioned for him to enter.

"Good afternoon Wilson," she said.

"Good afternoon," he said trying to smile.

She instantly picked up on his mood as she gestured for him to sit in one of the empty seats in front of her desk.

Wilson closed his eyes for a moment and then sat in the chair.

"I need to talk to you about House," he began.

"His behavior has been all over the place lately, and I'm really starting to get worried. He's been avoiding everyone at the hospital and we haven't hung out together at all in over a month. The whole time I have been staying with him he just comes home after work and locks himself in his room. I've tried talking to him, but he just pushes me away."

"He's lost two of out the last five patients that he has had," Cuddy stated. "He is probably just under a lot of stress. Give him some time and I am sure he will be fine."

"Look, I…..I found something….in his room," Wilson said hesitantly.

Cuddy gave him a confused look.

He quickly told her about finding the bottle of vicodin in House's room, but decided against telling her that he had searched his entire apartment before finding them.

Cuddy scoffed. "I'm sure he has them stashed all over the apartment."

"No, **he doesn't**," Wilson said, getting frustrated. "He has always been very up front with me about the pills. He only has two bottles, one is on his nightstand and the other he carries on him in his left jacket pocket. He's never hidden them from me before."

Then she suddenly realized something. "Wait, what were you doing in his room," she asked accusingly.

Wilson ignored her question and continued. "I think that he is ordering vicodin online. I'm concerned that he is going to end up doing something really stupid….like overdosing."

"Wilson, aren't you being a little dramatic?" she asked. "He's a doctor, one of the best in his field. He isn't stupid enough to overdose. Besides, you've been prescribing him the pills for four years now, why are you suddenly so worried?"

"That is exactly what he said, that I was being dramatic," Wilson replied defensively.

"Well, are you?" Cuddy asked again.

"When I found the prescription bottle it didn't have a label on it and had **over a hundred** vicodin pills in it," Wilson snapped. "He is due for me to write him a new script on Tuesday. He should only have about four days worth left. If he is dividing the new bottle up to last the month, and adding them to the pills that I prescribe for him, he could easily be taking anywhere between ten and twelve pills a day."

Cuddy sucked in her breath, releasing it slowly.

"Are you **sure **about the pills?"

"Yes!" he shouted. Frustrated, he stood up and started pacing in front of her desk.

She jumped slightly as he shouted at her. "Ok, I will talk to him and see what I can do," she said trying to reassure him.

"There's more," Wilson said hesitantly. He quickly told her about House storming out of his bedroom, picking a fight with him and how it had escalated to Wilson threatening him. "He started to scream at me, saying that he wanted me out of his apartment."

"You weren't serious about not prescribing for him were you?" she asked in disbelief.

"Of course not, but I was angry. I told him that I was going to talk to you and that is when he completely lost it."

"Wilson, you know how House is. He withdraws and pushes people away when he is uncomfortable in a situation. It is one of his defense mechanisms," she stated.

Wilson stopped pacing and turned to look at her.

"Yeah that's what I thought, just a defense mechanism. That is….until he pushed me… hard. I went flying backwards, and was barely able to stop myself from crashing into the table and by the time that I got back up he was at the door. He was just going to run away and pretend like it never happened," Wilson said barely above a whisper.

"This isn't just a tantrum or one of my usual arguments with him. I've been watching him and I am worried about him," Wilson said urgently. He walked over and sat back down in the chair in front of her and pulled it closer to her desk.

"He's been doing his clinic duty just to avoid us and hasn't shot off hardly any sarcastic remarks in weeks. He thinks that if we can't see him taking the pills, that we'll just assume that everything is fine. He doesn't even seem interesting in the cases coming in anymore and you don't find that a little disconcerting?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"He's had a lot on his mind," Cuddy said, trying to reason with him. "He called a few hours ago and said that he wouldn't be in until after noon."

"Insomnia, irritability, weight loss, lack of appetite, exhaustion, anxiety, personality changes and sudden erratic mood swings," Wilson said listing off the symptoms. "The only thing that I can't figure out is why he thinks that no one will notice that he is hiding the pills," Wilson said, his voice trailing off.

"I just…I don't know….I have this bad feeling that he is keeping something from me. Something bad," he said as he lowered his head, placing it in his hands.

Cuddy sighed. "But what can we do?" she asked.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with anger. "I don't know anymore!"

He stood up and started to pace again. "I want to be mad at him, I want to scream at him! I want to punch him and hit him and make him feel…I don't know…something, anything," he yelled, his voice filling with emotions.

He shook his head. "I should have done something, I saw it coming. All the signs were there… but I….I didn't want to admit what was really going on with him," Wilson said running his hand through his hair as he verbally beat up himself. "And I did nothing…. I just stood there and watched him get worse."

"If he doesn't want help, there is nothing that you could have done," Cuddy said trying to comfort him.

"I am supposed to be his friend!" Wilson shouted. "I'm not just supposed to stand there and do nothing!"

"Sometimes the people closest feel powerless over what is happening," she said sadly.

"I can't keep doing this," Wilson said, a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes. "I'm tired of fighting and arguing and being pissed off at him one minute, and giving into him and worrying about him the next."

She looked at him and was heartbroken to see the sadness and exhaustion already in his eyes. "Ok, then, for starters, I am going to set up an appointment with a counselor from the substance abuse center and possibly someone from the psychiatric department-," she started to say, but he cut her off.

"He won't go," Wilson said shaking his head. "He refuses to accept that he has a problem. He thinks that he is fine."

"It isn't for him…." she said slowly. "It's for you."

"Me!" he asked, surprised and confused.

"Addicts affect everyone around them," she explained. "I want you to consider getting some counseling, Wilson."

"But I'm not the one with the problem," he said in protest, starting to stand.

"You are the closest one to him…and the only person that he really trusts anymore," Cuddy said. "You're so close to him that I don't even think that you realize what he is doing to you."

Wilson stood looking at her with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Lately you haven't been sleeping well either and you act like you're having trouble concentrating. I know that you feel guilty that you keep writing him the prescriptions, but you can't blame yourself for what he is doing," she said, trying to make him understand.

"You feel like you constantly need to try and protect him. It is typical behavior for someone close to an addict," she said as she stood up and walked over to him, placing her left hand on his left shoulder, urging him to relax and sit back down. "It isn't your job to protect him, Wilson."

Wilson looked at her and swallowed hard as he realized that she was right.

"He doesn't want anyone to know what is going on," Wilson said already sounding defeated. "I would never hear the end of it if he ever found out that I was going to counseling because of him."

"James, he is ashamed and embarrassed and scared, whether we see it or not," Cuddy said softly. "And if we decide that something needs to be done to help him, he is going to fight us every step of the way."

Wilson just looked at her and nodded, unable to speak.

"Will you agree to go and see someone?" she asked. "Just one session, and if it doesn't help we will try something else. Just tell House that you're getting counseling to get through your divorce," she said half-smiling.

Wilson rolled his eyes and smiled. "Oh yeah, he'd love that."

He looked up at the clock on her wall and realized that House should be strolling through the lobby door any minute.

"He should be here any minute now," Wilson said pointing to the clock, suddenly feeling the butterflies build up in his stomach, dreading the thought. "I should get back to work. If he sees me in here talking to you after what I said to him last night, there is no telling how he'll react."

"Ok," she said simply. "I'm going to start making some phone calls. I will try and get you an appointment for this afternoon, Bakerson can cover for you."

Wilson nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said. "I will give you a call in a little while and let you know what's going on."

"Ok," Wilson said. He stood from his chair slowly and started to walk out of her office. He got about five feet from her desk when his pager went off. He pulled it from his pocket and looked down at the tiny screen. He furled his brow and reached into his right pocket, searching for his cell phone, but didn't find it.

"Um, it's a 911, but I don't recognize the number," he said, confused. He looked at her. "Can I use your phone?"

"Sure, of course," she said picking the receiver up off the hook and handing it to him. He dialed and waited for several rings before someone picked up.

"Hello, this is Dr. James Wilson. I just received a page from this number," he said in what House had always called his 'professional voice'.

She watched him as he listened to the person on the other line. Suddenly she noticed a rapid increase in his breathing and he was starting to look panicked.

"What happened?" he asked quickly. He stood for a moment. "Is he ok?" he asked again, and then nodded his head. "Yes, I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He slowly hung up the phone and looked directly at Cuddy.

"That was Princeton General. House is in their emergency room."


	9. Chapter 9: Princeton General

Author's Note: I have done lots of research on hospital policies and medical info for the chapters to follow. However, I am not a medical professional and there is only so much you can find on the internet. If you find any mistakes, please feel free to let me know and I will do what I can to change them. Thanks again to everyone who has been reviewing. And to the lovely Jazelle1996, you rock.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 9: Princeton General

She stared at him. "What happened?"

"All that she would tell me over the phone is that he was involved in an M.V.A. and he was knocked unconscious….he was on his bike," he spat out, almost shaking.

Cuddy just sat there with her mouth open. She had no idea what to say to him.

"They think that he is fine, but he is unconscious. They are doing a CT scan and some X-rays now," he said. "They should be getting the results back in a few minutes. They found his medical card with my contact information on it in his wallet and want me to come down right away."

"I think I should go with you," she said hesitantly.

"I'm fine," he said mechanically. "Besides, he is going to be completely pissed when he wakes up, it will be better if you stay here."

"Ok," she said, but wasn't comfortable with the idea of him going alone. "I'll just let my assistant know that you are leaving and he can call down to your department and get someone to cover for you," she said.

He turned and started to walk away, but then stopped. He turned back around and looked at her. She already had the phone in her hands making the arrangements.

"Thanks," he said.

She smiled. "Go."

She stood talking on the phone as she watched him practically run out of her office.

He ran down to the parking garage and hopped into his Volvo. When he arrived at Princeton General's emergency room parking lot he quickly found a spot and parked the car. He hopped out, and headed straight for the main entrance.

He entered and went directly to the front admit desk.

"Hi, um, my name is Dr. James Wilson, I received a call a little while ago about a patient of mine," he said quickly. "They said that I needed to come down right away."

"I need to see some verification first before I can release any information, doctor," she said. He quickly produced the proper documents and then smiled at her. She examined them and then asked, "What's the patient's name?"

"Gregory House."

She quickly typed his name into the computer and it took her a few seconds before she found his information. She scrolled down until she found his room number.

"He is in room 110, but the doctor has left instructions that he would like to speak with you. Please take a seat in the waiting room and I will have him paged for you."

She pointed him to the waiting room and he walked over and sat, impatiently waiting. Several minutes later a man in his mid-fifties walked over to him.

"Dr. Wilson?" he asked politely.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Wilson," he replied, standing.

"I'm Dr. Johanson, I'm Chief Resident of this ER. Please have a seat Dr. Wilson, I would like to have a word with you before you go in to see him," he said, sitting down on the couch across from Wilson. Wilson sat down slowly, preparing himself for whatever the doctor had to tell him.

"According to eye witnesses he was crossing an intersection when someone ran a red light and side swiped the back of his motorcycle. He was thrown and knocked unconscious, and brought here. We took him into the ER room and started to give him a full work-up, but about halfway through he started to regain consciousness and became extremely agitated. They ended up having to administer 2 mg of Haldol in order to calm him down."

"You sedated him?" Wilson asked, surprised.

"Dr. Wilson, he was out of control," Dr. Johanson continued. "He was confused and disorientated and refused to allow us to give him any treatment or tests. He started yelling at my doctors and slid off the table….he was sedated because he knocked one of my nurses down when she tried to keep him from leaving, and I will not tolerate that kind of abuse to my staff."

Wilson's shoulders dropped, as if carrying a heavy weight. "I understand," he said. "Other than the fact that he is sedated, how is he?"

"While he was unconscious we ran a CT scan, did a tox screen, and he had a few X-rays," he continued. "The CT scan confirms that he has a grade 3 concussion, which explains all of his behavior when he woke up. The X-rays revealed two broken ribs and he was also very dehydrated so we hooked him up to an I.V. and put him in a bed. He'll be fine, but he's a little banged up and will have to take it easy. I'm recommending that we keep him until this evening, but since you are his primary physician, I will leave that up to your discretion. If you have any questions or need anything, just have me paged."

"Thank you doctor," Wilson said. He stood up and asked which way House's room was.

"Down the hall," he replied.

Wilson thanked him again after he pointed to the hallway to his left. He was nervous and his heart was beating like crazy. He approached the room and paused for a minute before entering.

He pushed open the door and found that House was still asleep in the hospital bed, and apparently he hadn't woken up from the dose of Haldol that they had given him yet. He saw that they had removed his clothing and he was dressed in a hospital gown and was also attached to an I.V. Wilson stood at the door and didn't move closer. Even though he was fine, just the sight of him in a hospital bed caused memories of the infarction to come flooding back to him.

He walked over to the front of the bed and reached down to grab his chart, trying to be quiet, but he clumsily knocked it off the peg and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

The noise woke up House and he turned to look at the foot of his bed.

"Wilson?" he asked groggily, trying to sit up.

Wilson picked up the chart and hung it back on the peg in front of the bed and then took a step closer. "Yeah, it's me."

"Where am I?" he asked looking around the hospital room.

"Princeton General," Wilson replied. "You got hit by a car on your bike."

House shifted slightly in bed and couldn't suppress a wince as pain coursed through his leg, stomach, ribs and back. He gasped softly and started to hold his breath as the pain increased.

Wilson immediately grew concerned and stepped closer to get a better look at him.

"Are you ok?" he asked quietly.

House's eyes were closed and he was almost shaking from the pain. He didn't speak, but swallowed hard, and nodded his head.

That angered Wilson, who scoffed and then fired back. "You're not okay. Have they given you any pain medication?" he asked.

"I don't know…I think they knocked… me out," House said between gasps. "Judging from the pain…if they did give me something, it wasn't enough."

"I'm getting a nurse in here," he said as he turned toward the door.

Just steps away from the door, he heard House start to gag. He rushed to his side and grabbed the garbage can next the bed, putting it under House's mouth just as he started to painfully retch. Wilson watched, concerned, as House dry heaved. It took almost a minute before it finally stopped and his ribs were barely able to take the abuse. He shoved the garbage away from his face, gasping. Wilson took it and sat it on the floor as House wiped his mouth and then looked up at him. He was shaking from the pain and was exhausted.

"No nurse," House said defiantly. He was still gasping softly. "I just need… a… minute and then if it doesn't get any better I will let you go get someone."

Wilson put his hands on his hips.

"They ran some tests while you were asleep. You're vomiting because you have a concussion. You also have two broken ribs and you are dehydrated."

House looked up at him, finally getting his breathing under control.

"Go get me an A.M.A. form, and alert the attending physician, I'm going home," he said as he started to uncover himself. He reached over to start to unhook the I.V., but Wilson reached over to the bed and grabbed hold of his arm.

"You can't leave!" he said alarmed. "You have a severe concussion. You were knocked unconscious….you need to be monitored."

"I'm fine, I just need to go home and rest," he said as he tugged on his arm, but Wilson had a tight grip and wouldn't let go.

"No," Wilson said as they started to struggle. "If you want we will transfer you, but you need to stay in a hospital overnight."

"Go get me my clothes and get me the damn form!" House said louder. Despite the exhaustion, he managed to jerk back his arm and grab the I.V.

Wilson tried to keep him from pulling it out, but he didn't succeed. Instead he grabbed House's arm just as he had hold of the needle and House instinctively flinched. His BP had been so low on admission that they'd had to start the IV with a wide-bore needle. When House flinched, it dislodged, causing a ragged tear down the length of his arm. Blood started trickling out of his arm and onto his gown and sheets. Wilson backed up from his friend, both his hands held up, palms forward, clearly distraught.

"Great! Look what you made me do!" House exclaimed, clutching his left arm close to his chest, his eyes shut in pain. He pushed the I.V. line aside and started to get out of bed again. He had one foot on the floor when Wilson stepped in front of him again.

"If you don't get back into bed right now I am calling a nurse in here and I am going to have them sedate you again!" Wilson exclaimed.

House stopped mid-step and glared over at him.

He almost smiled. "You wouldn't do that," he said sounding certain.

Wilson glared back at him and crossed his arms over his chest.

"TRY ME."

Just then Cuddy walked in. She had decided that Wilson might need some help with House, and left for the hospital shortly after he did. She took one look at House and the blood on the bed, and became infuriated.

"What the hell are you doing House?" she hollered.

"He made me do it," he said pointing to Wilson.

She turned and looked at Wilson. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, a clear indication to her that he had done nothing of the sort.

"You," she said pointing to House. "Do not move. You," she said turning to Wilson, "Go get a suture kit and look at his arm. He is probably going to need stitches."

"No!" House said suddenly. "I don't want him to do it. Get someone else to do it."

Wilson and Cuddy both looked at him with a confused look on their faces. Wilson knew that House had always avoided hospital staff like the plague, and just a moment ago he had refused pain medication from a nurse. Why was he suddenly insisting on having someone else stitch him up instead of him or Cuddy?

"Fine," Cuddy said throwing her hands up in the air. "I am going to go get someone in here to stitch you up and I will try and see what we can do to get you transferred to Princeton Plainsboro so that we can keep an eye on you."

"I want you to get me **discharged**," House growled, stopping her at the door. He was in a lot of pain and both Cuddy and Wilson could see it, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it.

"You need to be monitored for the next 24 hours, House," Cuddy stated. "Either you can stay here, or you can go to our hospital. Those are your only two choices."

"I can sign out A.M.A. you know?" he asked, his voice low.

"Don't push me right now House," she replied.

Wilson stood watching the two locked in a silent battle of wills. When House turned away from her and didn't argue or reply, it was as close as she was going to get to having him give into her.

She nodded. "I'll be right back," she said stepping outside.

Wilson pulled up a chair, placing it next to the bed.

"What's going on with you?" he asked hesitantly. "I have medical privileges here, I could stitch your arm for you. Why do you want someone else to take a look at you and not me? Don't you trust me anymore?"

House turned his head away and didn't answer him.

A doctor came a few seconds later and walked over to his bed. She put on some surgical gloves and opened the sterilized suture kit. She motioned for House to hold out his arm, but he refused to move.

"I want him to leave the room," he said pointing to Wilson.

She turned to him and motioned for him to leave the room.

"House-," he said, feeling frustrated and angered.

"NOW Wilson," he said forcefully.

Wilson stood up and walked out of the room and down the hallway back to the admit desk.

He approached the desk and was greeted by a pretty brunette nurse.

"Hi," he said. "There is a patient in room 110 that I am going to be transferring over to Princeton Plainsboro, but I need to take a look at his chart before I put in the transfer request. Could you have someone go and get it for me?"


	10. Chapter 10: Covering Your Tracks

Author's Note: Hope everyone is still enjoying the story, and thanks to those who keep reviewing. The chapters should be coming more frequently now. Thanks to Jazelle1996 and Kidsnurse for being my betas.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Ten: Covering Your Tracks

Wilson stood patiently while the girl confirmed that he was in fact House's doctor and then sent someone to quietly retrieve his chart from his room. She returned a few minutes later and handed it to him. He took it, walked over to the waiting room and sat down.

He reviewed the CT scan and confirmed the concussion, examined the X-ray and saw that House had broken two of his ribs on his right side, and then looked over the rest of the chart. Everything seemed to be in order as he skimmed over the paperwork, until he got to the section were the comments were. There had been a notation written by one of the ER nurses that had noticed something out of the ordinary when she had inserted the needle into House's right arm for the saline drip. He was tired from the lack of sleep from the night before and had to read over the comment twice to be sure that he had read it correctly before he flipped to the toxicology screen and saw the results.

He swallowed hard. _This test can't be right; this has to be a mistake. _His heart started beating faster.

The chart showed that they had done a standard tox screen, which could be used to test for more than thirty different drugs at one time. They had drawn some of his blood while he was unconscious, but Wilson knew that the results for a blood test weren't always accurate and urine testing was usually preferred.

He stood up and walked over to the nurse's desk.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "I have some questions about a patient of mine, this is his chart," he said handing it to her.

"It says here that the toxicology test was performed at 12:01 this afternoon, is that correct?"

She looked over the chart carefully. "Yes doctor, that's correct. Is something wrong?"

Wilson ran his hand through his hair. "Have you given him anything for the pain?"

She flipped through the chart and came to the section specifying any medications that had been administered. "It says here that the patient identified himself as being a doctor and requested vicodin, but we didn't get a chance to give him anything in the E.R. before he was sedated. We gave him a shot of Toradol into the I.V. once we got him in bed."

"You're sure that nothing else was given to him?" he asked, clearly upset.

She skimmed the chart again, shaking her head. "I'm sure doctor."

Wilson sighed. "Um, ok, thanks," he said as he started to walk away. He turned suddenly, "Can I use your phone?"

She smiled and nodded. "Of course," she said as she handed the receiver to him.

He dialed the number and waited for an answer.

"Hello, this is Dr. Cuddy," she answered.

"Cuddy, it's Wilson, I need to speak to you right away," he said hesitantly.

She froze. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it over the phone. I'm in the waiting room down by the admit desk."

She could sense the tension in his voice. "Ok, I'll be there in just a few minutes. I am getting his transfer papers in order with the administrator here."

"Ok," Wilson said, hanging up the phone. He handed it back to the nurse and took the chart back over to the waiting room to wait for Cuddy.

A few minutes later she appeared down the hallway, a thick stack of paperwork in her hands. She sat down beside him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

He turned to the toxicology results and handed them to her, pointing to a specific section on the paper.

She looked down at it and then sucked in her breath deeply. _Oh, no. This is….I should have listened to him when he came to me for help. It was so bad he actually came to me, and I didn't believe him._

She looked up at him and saw how distraught he was. "Are you sure they didn't give him anything else?" she asked quickly, but cautiously.

"I'm sure, I checked with the nurse at the admit desk before I called you. She said that he wanted them to give him some vicodin, but they had to sedate him before they had a chance to and he was given a shot of Toradol after they got him into bed. They didn't give him anything other than that. It's in the notes on the chart, second page."

She shook her head and crossed her arms.

Wilson stood up.

"I knew it. I knew something else was going on," he said angrily.

"Wilson, there was no way that you could have known," Cuddy said, trying to ease some of the tension in the air.

"I know, I know," he said. Suddenly he realized something. "I bet that's why he didn't want me to look at his arm…," he said, his voice trailing off. He turned and headed for House's hospital room.

Cuddy stood up and followed him, but kept her distance behind him.

Wilson entered House's room.

"I need to talk to him, are you almost done?" he asked, rather rudely to the doctor tending to House's arm.

House gave him a perplexed look, but his eyes soon traveled down to the chart in Wilson's shaking hand. His stomach instantly started doing butterflies.

_He knows_, he thought to himself. _Oh, this is bad. God, he is probably royally pissed off right now. Well, serves him right for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong._

"I'm just finishing up now," she said as she started putting the last stitch in. "I'm sorry, I'm new here."

"That's ok," Wilson said, his tone lightening. He knew that she was just an innocent bystander and had no idea what was really going on.

The young doctor smiled and put in the last stitch, as House quickly pulled his arm out of Wilson's view. She had inserted a cannula, which was now in place, the I.V. running into his veins. She removed her gloves and packaged up all the items from the suture kit, leaving Wilson and House alone in the room.

Wilson walked silently over to the left side of his bed and pulled up the chair, sitting down. He still had the chart in his left hand, but put his head in his right hand, gently rubbing the side of his face as he sat quietly. Finally after several seconds, he stood up and looked directly into House's eyes.

House's eyes were pleading with him. _Just leave me alone_, they said. _Just go away. I can't deal with this right now. _

Cuddy, who had been observing them from just outside the door, walked in. She stood beside Wilson, looking very upset. The tension was building in the room, all three of them could feel it, and were dreading the inevitable outcome.

"You aren't even going to say anything are you?" Wilson said as he threw the chart at House. "You're just going to pretend like nothing is wrong."

House looked up at him, anger in his eyes. "Hey! Watch it! A few inches up and you would have hit my ribs!"

Wilson scoffed. "You're lucky I don't have better aim."

"Ok, ok, you two," Cuddy said cutting in. "Sit down Wilson," she said pushing the chair back a little, giving House some room.

"I'd rather stand," Wilson said, defiantly. He walked to the end of the bed and started pacing.

Cuddy sighed and watched as House picked up the chart, being careful not to expose his arm, and turned it directly to the toxicology results. He skimmed the page and found what he was looking for.

He turned to look at Wilson. "Wilson-"

Wilson glared at him. "Don't even talk to me," he shot back.

Cuddy sat down in the chair next to House's bed. "How long has this been going on, House?" she asked gently, trying to make him feel more comfortable. Wilson was angry and scared, and so was she, but she knew from experience that yelling at House would only make him withdraw more, making the situation worse.

He didn't speak right away. He only looked up at Cuddy and Wilson, with anger and distrust in his eyes. Cuddy stood next to his bed, while Wilson paced, both waiting for his reply.

"Not long."

Wilson stopped pacing. "Quit lying to us!" he shouted, making both Cuddy and House flinch. "You've got track marks on the inside of your arm! The nurse saw them when she was putting in the I.V. and made a notation it in the chart! I wouldn't even have bothered looking at the tox screen if I hadn't seen it."

House shifted in the bed. _I'm trapped…_

"Wilson calm down," Cuddy said forcefully.

"I am NOT going to calm down!" Wilson yelled again. He pointed at House. "He's been shooting up morphine and you want me to calm down?" he asked incredulously.

"Look," she said motioning to House. "He is tired and in pain. We need to get him transferred back to our hospital," she said trying to reason with him. "Once we get him settled into a room at Princeton Plainsboro, then we will deal with this. I promise."

Wilson looked at her. She was pleading silently with him to let her get him secured in their hospital. He looked over at House. He was clearly in pain, although he was putting up a brave front, and his breathing was starting to get rapid again.

Wilson shook his head. "Fine," he said harshly. "You can deal with him," he finished, and then left the room, his white doctors' coat flapping behind him.


	11. Chapter 11: The Gray Box

Author's Note: Ok, so I did do research for the remaining chapters of this story. Hope everyone is still enjoying it and I appreciate the patience that everyone has shown in waiting for the new chapters. Thanks to Jazelle1996 and Kidsnurse who were both betas for me.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Eleven: The Gray Box

Less than an hour after Wilson left House's hospital room the attending physician finally came in and signed the paperwork for House to be transferred over to Princeton Plainsboro. He rode with Cuddy in her car, and the transfer went smoothly, aside from the fact that House complained the whole ride there that he wanted to go home.

Shortly after arriving at the hospital, Cuddy had gotten him into bed, and given him another shot of Toradol in the new I.V. that she had insisted upon. House's quiet behavior and his increasing bad mood told her that the medicine wasn't helping much. They both knew that people with head trauma shouldn't receive narcotics for the pain and House still had several hours to go before he could be evaluated again. Then, if no new symptoms presented he would be allowed to have some stronger painkillers.

Cuddy had chosen a room in one older wings of the hospital, one of the few rooms that didn't have glass walls. She knew that House valued his privacy, and she wanted to do everything possible to make him as she could. Maybe then he might let his guard down enough to talk to her or Wilson about what had been going on these past few months.

He was lying in bed, pouting, picking at his food tray, and watching TV when she told him that she had to go and take care of some other things and she would be back in a few hours to check on him. She left the room and walked back down to her office. She sat down in her chair, placing her elbows on her desk, rubbing her temples. After several minutes of trying to relax, she picked up the phone.

When he didn't answer his cell, she tried his pager. Minutes went by, and he still hadn't called her back. She frowned. She got up and walked down to his office. The lights were off and the door was locked. She knocked loudly.

"Wilson, are you in there?" she asked. "Please open the door, I need to talk to you."

No answer. She waited a few seconds before knocking again, and waited. When he didn't come to the door, she gave up and walked away, heading back to sit in her office.

Wilson wasn't in his office. He had gone back to the apartment to find the morphine that he **knew** House had hidden somewhere. He thought that he had looked everywhere, but apparently he hadn't looked thoroughly enough. He knew that addicts could be very clever and although he hated himself for doing it, he decided that he would need to search the apartment again.

He started in the bedroom this time, tearing everything practically apart, but only found the bottle of pills next to his bed and the one hidden behind the books, still in the same spot that he had left it.

He next went into the bathroom and then ended up in the kitchen. Again, he ripped apart everything. He looked in the sugar dish, cereal boxes, the freezer, and refrigerator. Anywhere that could possibly be a hiding place was searched, no matter how ridiculous it might have seemed to him at the time. But he still didn't find anything. The only other place that he hadn't looked was the living room.

He stepped out into the living room, wondering where to begin the search again. He started with the closet, taking everything out, checking pockets and boxes. He then searched the couch, looking in the cushions, and under it. He checked all the table drawers, and found nothing. Then he remembered something that his dad had done once when he was a little kid. He had bought an old book from a thrift store and had hallowed out the center of the pages with a sharp razor, creating the perfect hiding spot. He looked over at House's shelves and sighed. He had to have close to five hundred books on those shelves.

It took him almost an hour and a half, but he had opened all the books, had neatly placed them back on the shelf, and was disappointed to find absolutely nothing. He was on the top rung of the step ladder putting a book back on the top shelf when he noticed that some books have been shoved up on the very top of the bookcase, out of site, hidden by the molding at the top. They looked like they had been shoved up there when House couldn't find any room for them anywhere else.

Wilson had to stretch to grab them. He carefully pulled the first stack of books toward the edge, when his eyes grew wide. There was a metal lock box sitting on top of a stack of books, shoved towards the back. He pulled the books toward him and barely caught the box before it joined the books, falling to the ground around him in a series of loud thuds.

He held the box in his hand, his breathing increasing.

_This has to be it_, he thought to himself.

He carefully descended down the steps and took the box over to the couch. He sat down and examined it. It was an old home security lock box with a four digit combination lock. Wilson sighed. It could take him days before he found the right combination, if he found it at all. He decided that there had to be an easier way to open it and went into House's kitchen to grab the tool box that he kept under the sink in the cupboard.

He grabbed a flat head screwdriver and started to attempt to pry the lid off. It took him over twenty minutes before he had finally wedged the screwdriver far enough between the box and the lid to give it one forceful shove, which sent the lid flying backwards.

What he saw made Wilson almost shudder.

Inside there were four vials of morphine, a tourniquet, a dozen or more individually packaged syringes, a vial of Compazine, and packets of alcohol swabs all neatly arranged in the box. He had found what he had been searching for, and he was now more scared for House than he had ever been in his life.

No casual user would have four vials of morphine stashed in their apartment. His worst fears about House had been confirmed. His best friend was now mainlining morphine, and judging from his recent behavior, it had been going on for awhile now. He closed his eyes, feeling sick to his stomach.

He slowly stood up. Now that he had proof, it was time to take the evidence to Cuddy. House was now hiding drugs in his apartment, possibly becoming more addicted everyday, and they had to do something about.

He grabbed the box and locked the front door behind him as he left the apartment. He got into his car and drove directly to the hospital. He walked quickly to Cuddy's office and tapped on the glass doors to let her know that he was there.

She had her head on her desk, but looked up and Wilson could see a look of relief on her face when she saw him. She motioned for him to enter, and he did. He walked right up to her desk and stood in front of it.

"Where have you been?" she asked, clearly worried.

"House's apartment," he said, his tone flat. He sat the box on her desk. "I found this."

She looked at the box apprehensively, but took it and opened it. She drew in a deep breath, and looked up at him.

Wilson sat down. She looked over at him, noticing that he looked exhausted, and was clearly even more upset than before. But she didn't know what to say to him, she didn't know how to comfort him anymore.

"It was on the top of bookshelf, hidden. I had difficulty reaching it," he said as he sighed and looked directly into her eyes. "It would be hard for him to reach it too. I think that it was out of site, out of reach, for a reason, Cuddy. He'd have to climb up a step ladder, which would be very painful for him, every time he wanted to get to it."

"What exactly are you trying to say Wilson?"

"He's trying to avoid it, trying not to think about it. And when he does that, I know that it means that whatever it is has been bothering him or… he is afraid of it. In this case, I think it is both."

Cuddy sat quietly.

"We have to do something Cuddy," Wilson said, his eyes full of sadness and hurt. "The pills were one thing, but this…he could O.D…he could…," his voice, so full of emotions, cracked as he spoke that last word.

Cuddy sighed. This was what she had always been afraid of. The moment when she could no longer deny that her diagnostician had finally given up the fight and had succumbed to his addictions and drastic measures would need to be taken to help him. "I need to talk to H.R. to find out what we can do and then we will talk to him," she said.

Wilson just sat there.

She looked at him again. But he didn't look at her. He sat with his eyes looking directly ahead, staring at her window, but he did not move.

"Wilson?"

He slowly turned to look at her and shook his head.

"I don't want to be there," he said quietly, looking away from her. "When you talk to him."

"But he is your best friend," she said, trying to convince him to go with her. _I need you there_, she thought. "He needs to know that you care, that you want to help him."

"I **can't **be there," Wilson said again a little more forcefully, and then turned to look at her.

"Ok," she said quietly as she nodded her head. "I know that this is a bad time, but I um…made an appointment for you this afternoon with Dr. Adams on the third floor," she said. "The appointment is at five o'clock in her office, room 326."

"I'm not going," Wilson said, his voice void of any emotion.

"Wilson, you need to see a professional about this," she said, more forcefully.

"Talking about this to a complete stranger isn't what I need right now, Cuddy."

Cuddy looked down at her oncologist. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. This was really taking a toll on him. She needed to convince him to talk to someone about this before it became too much for him to handle.

"Please, Wilson, go see her," she said gently now, trying to coax him. "House needs you to be the strong one right now, the responsible one. And that means that you need to take care of yourself in order to be able to help him."

That had gotten his attention. He thought about it for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "I'll go. **One session**. If I don't like it, I'm not going back."

"One session, that was our agreement. If it doesn't help, we'll try something else."

Wilson nodded and stood up quickly, walking out of her office without another word.

Cuddy was relieved that she had talked him back into going to see the therapist, but little did she know that Wilson had lied to her and had no intention of going to see anyone. As soon as he was back inside his office, he called down to the doctors' office and cancelled his appointment.


	12. Chapter 12: The Ulitmatum

Author's Note: Ok, so this chapter goes with the last one. I just thought that they needed to be separated. Thanks to Jazelle1996 and Kidsnurse for all their help. Keep reviewing if you want more people.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter Twelve: The Ultimatum

She sat and watched him leave. Then she picked up the phone and was on the line with H.R. for over a half an hour before she hung up the phone and walked down to House's hospital room.

She found him lying on his back, with his eyes shut. He opened them once she entered the room and gave her a dirty look. She noticed that he was trying to lie stiff, but she could see he was in pain.

"When can I go home?" he growled. Then shifted a little in bed and couldn't fight back a hiss as pain shot through his body. He started breathing quicker. "I…I need you to give me something for the pain…," he said quietly. "I haven't had anything since this morning, before noon….and the nurses said that you wrote orders not to give me anything."

"I didn't want them to give you anything until I talked to you about something," she explained. "I just got done talking to H.R."

He gave her a confused look, but then turned back to the TV, trying to ignore her.

"I want you to stop taking the morphine and the vicodin and get on some sort of pain management program. I can't keep your drug addiction a secret from the board anymore. I just got done talking to Human Resources," she began. "I had to call them and find out what my legal position was in this kind of situation."

That got his attention, his head whipped to her direction, a scowl forming across his face.

"You…. ratted on me?" he asked, exasperated.

"I used a hypothetical situation, I didn't give specifics or use your name," she said, trying to ease his concern. She wanted him to trust her. She waited a minute for him to reply, but when he didn't she continued. "They said that there is no way that you can work in your current condition, you are a danger to patients and you have become a liability to this hospital."

House was instantly infuriated.

"What are you talking about!" he hollered. "In my **current **condition….what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I can't let you work here while you're mainlining the morphine and abusing the pills and refuse to get any treatment," she said slowly, bracing for his response.

"I do not abuse the drugs!" he yelled, then closed his eyes in pain. "I take them only when I have to!"

She looked at him closely for first time in a long time. He was thin, thinner than he had been six months ago and had dark circles under his eyes. He looked so fragile in that hospital gown, lying in bed, with the I.V. in his arm. He was pale, his face gaunt, and he was starting to sweat.

"You need to stop doing this to yourself," she said. She pulled a chair up to his bed and sat down next to him. "The drugs are starting to completely taken hold of you. The kids are starting to suspect that something is really wrong and Wilson is barely holding it together."

"If he is having such a tough time with this, tell him that he doesn't have to worry anymore. I'll find someone else to prescribe me the pills."

"Is that your solution? To just deny and avoid that there is a problem and find someone else who won't give you any trouble about writing you the scripts?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"You're shooting up morphine…..this isn't just about the pills anymore," she said. "How long have you been using?"

He shifted, feeling nervous and uncomfortable, but did a good job of hiding how he was feeling though, because Cuddy didn't seem to notice.

"How long House?" she asked again.

"I deal with the pain," he said, sounding agitated. "I have never come to work high with the morphine in my system and I've never endangered any of my patients," he said, trying to dodge the question.

But Cuddy knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn't going to let him get away with it. "Stop avoiding the question and answer me House."

He had been looking right at her, but turned away.

"I need to know how long you've been shooting up and how much you're doing a day," she said, holding her breath, hoping that the answer wouldn't be as bad as she thought it was going to be.

He kept his head turned away from her and refused to answer her. She was really upset and he had a hunch that his usual snide comments and remarks weren't going to work on her this time, so his best defense against her was to say nothing at all.

"Whether you want to admit it or not, this isn't going to go away, no matter how much you may want it to, and it is only going to get worse."

Silence again. He still had his head turned away from her and he showed no emotion, he just lay there, breathing in slowly, trying to control the pain that was creeping up on him, threatening to devour him.

She stood up. "You've given me no other choice, House. I am officially putting you on medical leave."

That made him turn and he shot her a dirty look. "For how long?"

"Once I turn in the paperwork to H.R., it's out of my hands and according to them you will remain on medical leave until you have successfully completed an approved pain management or treatment program at a rehabilitation center. There are also probably some other conditions, but they can't give me any more information until we've evaluated your condition."

_My condition_….House felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. _No, no, NO, NO! She can't take my work away from me! _He felt like he was going to get sick. He suddenly became very quiet and the color was draining from his face, he could feel it. He could see how concerned she was, but he felt like he was trapped, he wanted to bolt, but couldn't. He felt powerless, overwhelmed, and uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

And he refused to let down his walls; he refused to let anyone in. He felt like he couldn't trust anyone anymore, not even Wilson. He knew he couldn't tell them how bad it really was. He couldn't tell them that for the past two months the pain had gotten so bad that he had been taking the morphine almost daily.

He couldn't tell them that he felt like he was losing control. He knew that his work at the hospital was the only thing keeping him from taking the morphine more that what he already did. He would take it mostly at night, when he knew that he would have time to sleep it off. If they wouldn't let him work, he would go stir crazy, the boredom would take over, and he knew that it would only be a short time before the drugs would take over too.

And he felt like he couldn't stop taking the morphine, even if he wanted to. The thought of the release and relief that the morphine had brought to him was so overwhelming. The vicodin wasn't working anymore and the morphine was the only thing that was helping him, but he couldn't tell them that. He **wouldn't** tell them….he wouldn't tell anyone anything if he had any say about it.

She noticed his sudden quietness and waited patiently for his answer.

"I need some time to think about this," he said slowly, already thinking about what his decision would be. He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. _Please Cuddy, don't do this to me._

She nodded. She knew how hard this was going to be for him. He was a very private person whose personal life and problems would be broadcast to everyone around him if he decided to get help. But she also knew that he had always had a hard time expressing emotions and feelings, often times completely avoiding them because they were too painful to deal with. That was one of the many reasons why over the years she had seen him slip deeper and deeper into depression and addiction. He couldn't handle the things going on around him unless he could change them or get control over them.

"I need to know by the end of the day what you have decided," she said, walking towards the door.

He looked away from her and shut his eyes as she left the room and secretly wished that he was attached to a morphine drip.


	13. Chapter 13: The Decision

Author's Note: I am trying to get over the writers block that I have been dealing with, and will try to post at least one chapter a week. Thanks to Jazelle1996 and Kidsnurse for all their help.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 13: The Decision

Wilson got paged a few minutes after he arrived in his office and immediately went to tend to one of his patients. It was after 6 p.m. before he had finished with them and was down in the clinic signing out for the day after finishing up his hours when he saw Cuddy walking through the clinic doors, heading straight for him.

"Hi," she said, sounding tired. "I got done talking to H.R. right after you left and then I went down and talked to House. I need to talk to you, are you free right now?"

Wilson nodded and followed her into her office.

"I called down to H.R. and gave them a very vague description of what was going on, but didn't use any names. They said that while he continues to deny treatment and take the morphine that he is a liability here, and that I shouldn't allow him to keep working. They suggested that I put him on medical leave and force him into a pain management or treatment program. I told him that those were his two choices, work or the drugs, and he had until the end of the day to tell me what he wants to do."

She sat down at her desk and Wilson sat down across from her in a chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Cuddy, we can't take his work away from him," Wilson said, alarmed. "He needs it to keep him grounded; you remember what he was like after the infarction, before you hired him back here. And I know that he won't go to any kind of rehab center. Isn't there some way that we could have him be temporarily supervised by Foreman until we can figure out our next move?"

"Wilson, you and I both know that he can't work in his current condition. He has been lying to all of us, and I can't trust him anymore. I have to do what I feel is right."

"You're the hospital administrator, you get to make the calls," Wilson pointed out.

"As soon as we're done talking I would appreciate your company when I go down and talk to him and see what decision he's made." She didn't want to put House on medical leave, but she was acting on what she had been legally advised to do.

With that settled, she turned her attention back to Wilson. He still looked tired and that was starting to concern her. She decided to change the subject, to try to get his mind of House, even if only for the moment, and hopefully lighten the mood a little.

"How did the appointment go?" she asked, trying to hide her concern.

"What appointment? Oh, yeah, the therapist…it was only the first session, it's going to take some time," he said, feeling bad for lying to her. He found it a little unnerving exactly **how easy** it was to lie to her. _I've been hanging around House for too long, _he thought to himself He knew that he should've gone to the therapist, but he really didn't want to talk to anyone about what was going on.

"I know how hard this is for you, but I really think that it will help. You don't have anyone other than House as a sounding board, and we both know how good he is at tackling anything that resembles a serious conversation. You just need to get an outside perspective on the situation, someone who isn't so emotionally invested."

"I hope so," he said. "So…what now?"

"Well, for starters, I told him that you found the box," she said, carefully watching Wilson for his response. His eyes got wide, and she could tell that the information was very upsetting to him. "I tried to get him to talk about it, but he dodged my questions and gave me the silent treatment."

"Typical House," Wilson added. "And great advice, just ignore the problem and it will go away. Too bad things don't work that way." _Maybe I should consider that advice,_ Wilson thought to himself. _Because ignoring my own problems seems to be working so well, _he thought to himself sarcastically

"Wilson, he is angry right now and all his defenses are up again," Cuddy continued.

"We need to get him to tell us how long he has been taking the morphine," Wilson said quietly. He couldn't believe that he was even having this conversation with her. _How could he have let his friend do this to himself? _

He had known that something bad had been going on for awhile now, but didn't know how to approach the problem. Deep down he had to admit to himself that he was afraid to confront house because he was afraid of what he might find out. House turning to stronger, more addicting drugs had always been something that scared the hell out of Wilson.

"Well, like you said, by the looks of it he isn't just using occasionally, so it is safe to say that he has become addicted to it," Cuddy said sadly. "It's just a question of **how** addicted he has become."

"He has been slowly declining for months now, and that's a bad sign. I just have no idea what to do about it. He's just going to shut down and isolate more if we push him, and if we leave him alone there's no telling what might happen."

"I don't even want to tell his team what is going on right now because I have no idea how to go about trying help him, and the fewer people that know right now, the better."

Wilson looked at her, his expression on his face almost tortured. "I can't watch him do this to himself. He is throwing it all away, everything that he has ever worked for. He is destroying himself!"

_I know James, I know. I wish I knew what to do…I wish I did._ "First let's see how he's reacted to the fact that he's going to be put on medical leave and then we will go from there. He says that he hasn't come to work high with the morphine in his system, but after what's happened today I'm not sure that I believe him anymore."

Wilson nodded. "I think that he's telling the truth. I think that he uses the vicodin most of the time while he is here, that is why he had to resort to ordering online to get the doses that he needs. He is trying to substitute it for the morphine while he is working.

"I agree, but it still doesn't change the fact that we need to intervene before he ends up hurting himself…or someone else," she said softly.

Wilson shuddered inwardly His mind instantly travels back to the night before, when House had pushed him. He still couldn't believe that House would do something like that to him.

"Ok," Wilson said standing up. "Let's get this over with and go and talk to him."

Cuddy stood up and followed him out of her office. When they approached House's hospital room door, she stopped.

"Let me do most of the talking," she said to him. She knew that Wilson was having a hard time with this, and the less strain he put on himself right now, the better.

Wilson blinked and nodded. He allowed her to step in front of him and open the door.

"House, we need to-," Cuddy started, but cut herself off in mid sentence.

Wilson, standing behind her, instantly had a surge of panic rip through his body. "What, what is-?"

He stepped in to the room, quickly following her line of sight and his mouth dropped open.

House was gone.

"Where did he go?" Cuddy asked, fear in her voice.

Wilson walked over to the closet and opened it. House had requested that all his personal things be left in the closet in the hopes that he would be released in a few short hours. It was empty. "His duffle bag and clothes are gone. Damnit!"

"I'm going to check at the nurse's station, see if anyone saw him leave," Cuddy said walking towards the door.

"He's gone Cuddy," Wilson said slowly. Then something occurred to him. "You told him about the box...it was in my office…," he said as he bolted out of the room leaving Cuddy standing there looking bewildered.

She caught up with him a few minutes later and found him standing out on the balcony that connected his office to House's. He had his hands resting on the ledge, his shoulders slumped over. He looked up in her direction when he heard his office door open. She walked in and slide the balcony door open.

"The box is gone, he took it. He knows that I always keep the balcony door open for him," Wilson said softly. "His ribs…for him to hop over that ledge…oh God," he said, shutting his eyes. _Hold it together Wilson; this is not the time or the place to get upset. This is House we're talking about, he does things like this. Just breathe and deal with it. When you get back to the apartment tonight, then you can break down._

Cuddy walked over to him. "We'll find him."

Wilson scoffed. "He's made his decision, and we won't find him…not until he wants to be found," he said as he walked away from her back into his office. He started shoving papers into his briefcase and then grabbed his coat. He felt her eyes on him and looked up at her. "I'm going back to the apartment to try and get some sleep, let me know if you hear anything, and I'll do the same," he said, and walked out of the office.

_He chose the drugs over his job, this is bad._


	14. Chapter 14: Breaking The News

A/N: Hope everyone is still enjoying the story. I would like to say thank you to all those that reviewed the previous chapters. The reviews weren't as numerous as I had hoped, but I will keep writing anyways, considering that this is my first story and all. This is kind of a short filler chapter. Don't worry, I didn't forget about the kids, although they will only be making cameo appearances in this story. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for all her help.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 14: Breaking the News

As soon as Wilson left, Cuddy walked down the hallway to the conference room. She was in luck; House's team was sitting at the large table, busying themselves with research and crossword puzzles. She stepped into the room and walked over to the whiteboard. They stopped what they were doing and looked at her with an anxious expression on their faces.

"How's House doing?" Cameron asked. "When will he be able to come back to work?"

Cuddy didn't say anything, and they could tell that something was wrong. Their expressions changed from anxious to nervous and worried.

She walked over to the table and sat down. "I need to talk to the three of you about House."

His team exchanged glances.

"What's going on?" Cameron asked hesitantly. "Is something wrong with House?"

"When House was admitted to the hospital this morning the E.R. doctors were required to run a tox screen on him, it's a standard procedure when someone comes in that has been involved in an M.V.A. Wilson was paged a little while after he was admitted and by the time he got there, House was already in a bed, sedated."

"Wait, why was he sedated?" Foreman interrupted, sounding confused.

"He woke up during the initial examination and tried to leave but one of the nurses tried to stop him and he knocked her down by accident. They thought that he might be violent, so they had to give him Haldol to calm him down."

"Wow," Cameron said.

Cuddy quickly told them about House waking up, his demands to go home, her arrival and the transfer agreement, the I.V. mishap, and then hesitated telling them what happened next. She sighed and took a deep breathe. "House wouldn't let Wilson or I look at his arm, so I went to get the transfer approved and Wilson went out into the waiting room and looked over his chart. The tox results were back and they showed that House had traces of vicodin and morphine in his system."

"Morphine?" Cameron whispered softly.

Cuddy nodded. "We tried to give him a chance to explain, but he refused to talk to us. Wilson says that he's been acting strange for months; we suspect he's been taking it regularly for awhile now. The E.R. doctor that had inserted the wide bore needle when he was admitted noted that he had a few small, fading track marks on his arm and noted it in the chart."

"I can't believe that he would resort to that," Cameron said shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, vicodin is one thing, but I just can't see him shooting up morphine."

"He's been in a lot of pain lately, we've all noticed," Foreman said, finally jumping into the conversation. "When we tried to question him about it, he told us not to worry, that everything was fine."

"He didn't want you knowing what was going on," Cuddy said. "He's been hiding it and lying to all of us. Thank God Wilson is a good doctor and looked the chart over as thoroughly as he did, or we still wouldn't know about it."

"So, what happens now?" Chase asked softly. He had been extremely quiet during the conversation.

Cuddy explained in detail what H.R. had told her and then told them that she had gone into House's room and given him the choice to continue using the morphine and be put on medical leave or get treatment and return to work with restrictions when he completed a program.

"What did he say?" Foreman asked.

"Wilson and I went to get his answer…but he was gone. He left the hospital A.M.A. about an hour ago and nobody knows where he is."

Cameron looked alarmed, and had her mouth partially open in shock, not knowing what to say. Chase stopped nibbling on the pencil in his mouth, placing it next to his crossword puzzle on the table. Foreman acted smug and scoffed when Cuddy mentioned that the diagnostic department was not taking any more patients effective immediately and that House would remain on medial leave indefinitely until the situation was resolved.

"What're we supposed to do until he gets back?" Foreman asked, almost sounding annoyed. The prospect of spending his days in the clinic or in the conference room with nothing to do weren't very appealing.

"All of you have vacation that you haven't taken; so I'm giving you the choice of using some of it up or being placed, temporarily, in another department," Cuddy said.

She gave them a moment to decide what they wanted to do. All three chose to be put in different departments. They worked it out so that Cameron would work in the Physical Therapy Department, Chase would go to the N.I.C.U. (where he had already done one rotation), and Foreman would go to Neurology. When they weren't needed in their new departments, Cuddy gave them instructions to go down to the clinic; they were currently understaffed and needed all the help they could get.

With the news about House out in the open and the new jobs assigned, she stood up, excused herself, and walked out of the conference room, leaving them to talk about it amongst themselves.

Cameron and Foreman immediately got into a heated debate about House's drug addiction, but Chase remained quiet, withdrawn, and then without a word, quickly got up from his seat and walked out the door.

Cameron and Foreman just exchanged looks at each other, wondering what was going on with him, but decided not to follow, and then went back to their debate.

Chase walked down to the men's bathroom and opened the door, walking into a stall. He sat down on the toilet seat and took a deep breathe. He didn't know why the information about House had been so upsetting to him, but it had been. Maybe it was because it had brought back painful memories of his mother's struggle with addiction.

Chase could remember all the times that he had come home from school to find her missing, and all the terrible anxious hours that would follow as he waited up half the night for her to return home. She never left any notes and he had no idea where she had gone. He never quite knew exactly what to do. She would eventually return, barely able to walk, dropped off by some random man, reeking of alcohol. He remembers, even at an early age, guiding her into bed, removing her shoes and socks, and gently draping the covers over her exhausted, drunken body.

So many times he had asked her to get help, pleaded with her, but each time she had refused, saying that she simply couldn't stop. Sometimes he wondered if she even wanted to stop. He watched the weight fall off her and her bright eyes lost their sparkle as she continued to pour more and more of the poison down her throat. He remembered seeing the anger, sadness, and desperation that she felt towards herself as her addiction grew stronger and stronger.

The day she died, a part of Chase had also died. He still to this day felt partly responsible for her death, all the 'what ifs' still floated around in his head. No child, hell, **no one** should have to see someone that they love go through that, helplessly watching them as they slowly killed themselves. And now they all knew that House had been struggling, but had been unable to ask for help. It saddened Chase to know that such a brilliant man, someone that he looked up to, felt so disconnected and distant from everyone around him that he could no longer turn to anyone for help.

Chase instantly felt a stab of sympathy and empathy for Dr. Wilson, whom they all knew had become extremely close to House. So far he had been the only one to break down his walls and develop a bond with him. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Wilson and make it known the next time that he saw him that he was his friend, and that they could talk anytime Wilson needed to, even though they had rarely spoken outside the hospital. He knew what Wilson was going through, and it could be devastating.


	15. Chapter 15: Wilson’s Long Night

A/N: Ok, so again, this chapter goes with the last one. Please review if you want me to continue, constructive criticism is appreciated, and I will try get out the chapters more often, pending on the reviews. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my beta and helping me with other stuff.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 15: Wilson's Long Night

Wilson went back to House's apartment and threw his coat and briefcase on the chair next to the couch after he shut the front door. He wasn't hungry, but he had barely eaten anything all day. He knew that it probably wasn't a good idea to starve himself, so he headed into the kitchen. He had gone earlier that week to the market, so there was plenty of food. He grabbed a package of deli meat, cheese, and mayonnaise, making himself a half a sandwich. He grabbed a glass of lemonade and went out into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

He needed something to take his mind off of House somehow. He turned on the TV and started searching through all the programs that House's TiVo had taped for the week. Almost everything was daytime soaps or cartoons, so he turned the TV to an easy listening music channel and tried to relax. He ate the sandwich slowly and finished off the lemonade, then walked into the kitchen and set the plate and glass in the sink.

He went back into the living room and sat back down on the couch and began reading a medical journal while listening to the music until almost 10 p.m. He then decided that a nice, long, hot shower sounded like a good idea; maybe it would relieve some of the tension that he had been feeling for the past few days. He grabbed his toiletry bag and his pajamas and shuffled into the bathroom. He stripped out of his restrictive work clothes and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature.

He stepped into the hot, steamy water, and stood facing the showerhead. He placed his hands palm down against the cold tile in front of him, and lowered his head, letting the hot water pour down his body. He felt so stressed out and the knotted muscles screamed with relief; the hot water felt so good. He stood just trying to take his mind off the events from earlier that day, but each time his mind went back to House.

As the tension slowly started to leave his body, he fought off the need to cry; the stress was really starting to get to him. His best friend was shooting up morphine and God only knows what else at this point and there was nothing that he could do about it. His mind was working in overdrive by thinking up terrible scenarios: House overdosing, using illegal drugs, or possibly dying because of his addiction. But he wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to break down over this. He would be fine, he would get through this.

He soaped himself and shampooed his hair then carefully stepped out onto the bath rug and dried himself off. He felt a little bit better and the hot water had definitely loosened some of the muscles in his neck and back. He pulled on the old gray sweat pants and plain white t-shirt. He thought about going back into the living room and turning the TV back on, but decided against it. He walked out of the bathroom and turned immediately to the right…into House's bedroom.

He stepped inside and flipped on the light, looked around, and sighed. If House wasn't going to be there tonight there was no sense in him sleeping on the couch. He walked over to the king-size bed and laid down. It was so soft; leave it to House to deck out his bed with the best pillows, comforters, and sheets. Wilson snuggled down in between the blankets and could still smell his best friend's scent, lingering on the sheets and pillow cases.

He suddenly felt inexplicably sad and angry. He lay in bed, conflicted by these new feelings as they started to overwhelm him. All the things that had been happening lately were so exhausting and he felt so tired, but he couldn't sleep. It was so hard trying to keep up with House on a day to day basis. Add the fact that he was slowly giving in to his addiction into the equation and Wilson felt lost.

He shut his eyes and was willing himself to try and get the sleep that he knew he desperately needed when he heard his pager go off in the living room. His heart jumped and he sprang from the bed, running into the living room. He grabbed the pager out of his coat pocket and peered down at the illuminated screen.

I'm fine, don't worry-House

If it was meant to comfort Wilson, it didn't work. "I'm fine" was always House's language for "something is wrong, but I can't or won't talk to you about it." Wilson's heart sank. _Why does this have to hurt so much? Why did he have to do this to himself and drag me down with him? Why am I feeling this way? Get a grip Wilson._

Wilson took the pager back into the bedroom with him, placing it on the nightstand next to House's bed just in case he called again. He lay awake until after midnight as a result of his restless mind plaguing him, before he finally dozed off. He hadn't been asleep long when he heard his pager going off again. He turned onto his side and grabbed it off the nightstand. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times before he could read the message on the screen.

He bolted out of bed and grabbed the cordless phone, sitting on the stand next to House's bed. He had to calm himself as he tried to dial House's cell phone number.

He answered on the second ring. "Jimmy?"

"What is it? What's wrong House?"

"I don't know…I feel funny," his words were slurred. Wilson's heart started beating a mile a minute.

"What do you mean you feel funny? House, did you take something?"

No answer.

"House, answer me," Wilson's voice was growing more desperate by the second.

"I think I took too…too much, I didn't mean to," he said. His breathing was labored, Wilson could hear it over the phone, and he started to panic. _Breathe Wilson, just breathe_. _Stay calm; you need to be calm to help him._

"Where are you? I'm gonna call 911 and meet them there."

"Motel…Parkins St…by the mall, room 110," House managed to get out.

"Ok, I'll be right there," Wilson spat out. "I'll be right there!" He hung up the phone and dialed 911, giving them House's current location and a brief description of the medical emergency.

_Oh GOD, this is not happening…not happening_. Wilson told himself over and over. He grabbed his keys and wallet and ran out to his car. He must have run through at least four red lights as he frantically drove to the motel. It only took him about seven minutes to get there, although he hadn't remembered the exact route. His body seemed to have acted on adrenaline and instinct. To top off the urgency of the situation, the paramedics hadn't even arrived yet.

He parked the car sideways in front of room 110, taking over two parking spots and hopped out of the car, not even shutting the door all the way. As he ran to the room, he noticed that the door was ajar. He looked down; one House's red and black Nike Shox tennis shoes was wedged in-between the door, holding it open. Wilson pushed open the door and stepped into the dingy, dark motel room. There was only a chair, TV, night stand with one lamp, and a bed. But House was nowhere to be found. He saw a light on in the back of the room and ran towards the bathroom.

House was sitting on the floor leaning up against the bathtub, his head lolled back, resting on the edge of the bathtub. His eyes were closed. Wilson ran to him and flung himself on the floor next to House. He gently pulled his head forward, and could feel the cold, clamminess of his skin. His breathes were coming slow, difficult, and shallow.

"Jesus," Wilson whispered. "House, House, wake up. Look at me!"

He shook House hard, and finally he opened his eyes. His pupils were dilated, and looked like tiny pinpoints in a sea of light blue. Wilson looked in the toilet next to them and saw that House had vomited recently. He put a finger to House's wrist, to take his pulse. It was weak and slow.

_Where the hell are the paramedics!_

House looked at Wilson with fear in his eyes. "Ji…Jimmy?"

Wilson choked back on a sob. He gently held House's head and tried to keep their eyes locked. "I'm here…everything's going to be fine," he gulped in some air, "The paramedics are on their way. Everything's okay, you're gonna be ok."

House's eyes rolled back into his head and his head lolled back again, away from Wilson's grip. "House! Come on buddy, stay with me, just a little longer!" He shook him again, harder this time, but he was unresponsive.

"House! House!" Wilson was screaming at the top of his lungs now, fear and panic finally taking hold of him.

Suddenly, Wilson bolted upright in bed, eyes wide open, full of panic. He was completely covered in sweat, his breathing erratic. He looked around, disorientated for a moment, and then realized where he was. He was in House's apartment, it was a dream. He slumped back into the pillows, exhausted. _Just a very bad dream._

He looked over at the illuminated alarm clock next to the bed; it read 4:15 a.m. He had only gotten a little over four hours of sleep and was wide awake now. He got up and went into the bathroom to get a glass of water, use the toilet, and then slipped back into bed. He lay there till 6:30 before sleep finally overtook him again. His alarm went off 30 minutes later and he had to use all his remaining energy to drag himself out of bed and get ready for work.

He took another quick shower and dressed in his clean work clothes, and then blow dried his hair. He took a final look at himself in the mirror before he left the bathroom. His clothes and hair were perfect, but the rest of him looked like crap.

_Great, just great, he thought to himself._ _All I need is everyone asking me how I am today._ He sighed deeply, walked out into the living room, grabbed his briefcase and then locked the door behind him as he left for work.


	16. Chapter 16: Chase's Offer

A/N: Thanks to everyone still reading and reviewing. Also thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 16: Chase's Offer

Wilson arrived at work and parked his car in the parking garage and started walking up to the hospital.

"Dr. Wilson!"

Wilson looked behind him to see Chase jogging quickly up to meet him.

"Good morning Chase," he said putting on his best smile. He was exhausted, even smiling was starting to become difficult. He hoped that the Australian wouldn't notice.

Chase smiled back. "Good morning."

They walked together into the lobby and waited for the elevator. A few people exited as they entered. Wilson pushed the button for the fourth floor. He could feel Chase silently examining him and he didn't like the way it made him feel.

When the elevator stopped they both stepped out and headed towards their offices. When they reached the diagnostic office Wilson had expected Chase to turn and walk inside, but he didn't. Wilson heard him stop walking.

"Dr. Wilson?" Chase asked softly. Wilson stopped and turned around to face him. "Can I talk to you?"

Wilson nodded. "Sure Chase, let's go into my office," he said motioning for Chase to follow him.

They walked to his office and Chase waited outside in the hallway as Wilson unlocked the door and walked inside, Chase following closely behind. Wilson put his briefcase down on the desk and sat in his chair. He motioned for Chase to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, the ones usually reserved for patients and family.

"What can I do for you?" Wilson asked as pleasantly as he could.

Chase looked directly at him. "Cuddy told us about House," he said quietly, not knowing what kind of response he was going to get from Wilson.

Wilson was surprised, but not upset. After all they were his team and they had a right to know. "I see," he said slowly. He sat back in his chair and waited for Chase to speak again.

"I just wanted to let you know that…I'm sorry," Chase said softly.

"Don't be sorry, it isn't your fault," he said.

"It isn't yours either you know?"

Wilson locked eyes with Chase. "I know, I know it's not."

"But you feel responsible?" he asked.

"My relationship with House is complicated."

His relationship with House, and his ability to get him to trust him was something that he didn't willingly share with others. For some reason he felt possessive towards their friendship and it felt like if he talked about it with someone else that it made their friendship less personal, less special. Deep down inside he liked the fact that he was the one closest to House, he was the one that House could let most of his guards down and be himself. And that wasn't something that Wilson would willingly let go of.

"I'm not trying to pry," Chase said practically reading his mind. "I know that we don't talk or hang out outside the hospital, but I consider you my friend and I know how tough this can be for a person to have to deal with. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm…concerned."

_So that's what this is about. _"Don't be concerned, really," Wilson said, although he was sure that Chase wasn't convinced. "I know that I might seem a little flustered lately, but I'm fine. I'm working through this." _No you're not, don't lie to him_.

"You've been acting different lately," Chase said.

"Chase, I'm fine," Wilson said reassuringly. _I'm fine_, he told himself. Chase looked at him skeptically. "Really, I'm okay. I'm going through a little bit of a rough time, but this is nothing that I can't handle."

Chase sat for a moment watching Wilson. He looked exhausted. Circles were starting to form under his eyes from lack of sleep and he acted physically fatigued. Chase had noticed that he had walked slower than usual this morning and his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"When I was younger my dad left me and my mom, he moved out and got a new girlfriend and we barely heard from him after that. My mom got depressed and she started drinking. It started with a few drinks here and there after work or on the weekends."

Wilson tensed. _Crap._

"She…started missing work and not paying the bills, even though my dad sent us plenty of money. She eventually lost her job and I was the one who had to be responsible for the both of us. I paid the bills, well I wrote the checks and she signed them. I balanced the check book statements and we got someone to come in and help with the house cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and cooking. I hoped that taking the stress off of her would help, but it only gave her more of an excuse to lie around all day and get drunk. I would come home after school and she'd either be passed out or she'd be gone. She never left a note and it would be hours before she would show up completely drunk after being dropped off by some random guy that she had met at the bar."

Chase took a deep breath.

"To make a long story short, she died when I was fifteen, she drank herself to death," Chase said with sadness and bitterness in his voice. He turned away and looked out the window for a second then turned and looked at Wilson. "I know that you don't want my help, that you think that you can handle this on your own, but trust me, you can't. I know, I went through it. I watched her get worse and worse, and I did everything I could to help her, but she just wouldn't…or couldn't admit to herself that she was sick and needed help. She made me feel responsible, and I blamed myself for what happened to her. And now I see House doing the same thing to you…and…," Chase looked at him with all the empathy that he could muster. "I want you to know that you're not alone and that what he's doing isn't your fault."

Wilson didn't know what to say. The fact that his mom was an alcoholic was news to him. He wondered briefly if House knew. "I'm sorry about your mom," was the only thing that came to mind.

"Thanks," Chase said softly. "It's taken me a long time to recover from what she did to herself…and to me," he said then hesitated. "I went to see a psychiatrist for awhile."

"I don't need to see a psychiatrist Chase."

"But it might help," Chase said quickly.

Wilson put up his hand. "Look, my main concern right now is House. "I've been doing a little research about substance abuse," Wilson said. "When I found out that he was shooting morphine, I wanted to scream at him. I was so angry I stormed out of his hospital room. I…I don't think that he will ever willingly go into a treatment program, he would have to be forced…and I can't do that to him."

"You might have to in order to save him," Chase pointed out.

"I know," Wilson said softly. That was one of the many scenarios that he had played over and over in his head, and he was dreading the fact that it was slowly becoming a possibility. They may have to force House to go against his will. And Wilson knew that if that happened that House would never forgive any of them. He looked down at his watch. "I don't mean to kick you out, but I have a patient that I need to meet with in ten minutes."

"If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me," Chase said as he stood up and walked out of Wilson's office.


	17. Chapter 17: The Need Grows Stronger

A/N: Please keep reviewing guys, I really need it lately in order for me to get motivated enough to keep writing this. The chapters have been really difficult lately, so I appreciate all the support. Jazelle1996, you rock, thanks for all your help! Note that in this chapter there is drug usage so I changed the rating.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 17: The Need Grows Stronger

House lay in the full size bed on top of the soft, plush comforter trying to enjoy the air conditioning as he nibbled on some chips and watched Spongebob Squarepants on the large T.V. The hotel room was spacious with a balcony overlooking most of New Jersey. He had checked in the night before and had loafed around for most of the day. He had ordered room service and hadn't even bothered to take a shower. The Do Not Disturb sign that he had hung on the door guaranteed that no one would bother him.

His concussion didn't seem to be bothering him too much, but his ribs were giving him a hard time. Any sudden movement and sharp pains would flare up. Sitting down and standing up was extremely painful. His nausea seemed to be subsiding and he wasn't dizzy anymore.

He had his right leg elevated and propped up on two fluffy, soft pillows, but it was already starting to spasm and hurt again. He looked at the clock sitting on the night table next to the bed. It had only been 7 hours since his last morphine injection and he knew that he needed to hold out longer than that, but the pain was already slowly threatening to overwhelm him again.

He slowly shifted his leg off the pillow and gently placed it on the floor with a grimace. He stood up, ribs protesting and grabbed his cane, limping heavily over to the desk to grab the gray box out of his book bag. He picked it up and limped back over to the bed and gingerly sat down, placing the box on his lap. He flipped open the lid and started to reach in to remove a vial of morphine, but stopped himself.

_I need to wait. It's too early!_ A pain shot up his leg, causing him to hiss. _Damnit! I'm in pain…legitimate pain._

His leg started to protest from the movement that he had just made. He started breathing harder, trying to push the pain to the back of his mind. In the privacy of his hotel room where he knew that no one would judge or pity him, he gasped loudly.

As he had said many times before, human bodies were stupid sometimes, and his was no different from anyone else's. It knew what it wanted and would go to any means to get it. He knew that the more pain medication he fed his body the more that it would find ways to create more pain in order to justify getting more drugs.

He put the box on the night table next to the bed and lay back down on the bed. He popped two vicodin and sat for over five minutes trying to get the pain to recede, but the longer he waited the worse it was becoming. His jaw clenched as a bad spasm radiated down his leg. He instinctively grabbed the leg, clutching it so tight that his knuckles were turning white. He started breathing erratically in short painful gasps, and he was starting to feel lightheaded and nauseous. The pain grew worse and he shut his eyes tightly as he let out a low moan.

With shaky hands he quickly reached over to the gray box and practically threw it onto the bed next to him. He flung open the lid and grabbed a sterile syringe and the vial of morphine out and sat them down on the bed.

He couldn't believe that he was doing it again this soon. _I need it. _He rationalized to himself_. Just enough to give me some relief…that's all I need._

He picked up the syringe and removed the cap, gently sliding the needle into the vial. He drew up the dosage, replaced the cap, then sat the syringe back on the table and sat staring at it.

_I can't keep doing this…seven hours is way too early. _He looked down at his leg; he could visibly see it spasm under the thin denim material.

He felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg again, this time it felt like someone was stabbing him. "Son of a-" he growled softly. He grabbed the leg and started rubbing it fiercely. He felt like he was going to start to cry and his whole body was starting to shake. A thin layer of sweat was starting to form on his brow and he knew that the energy that it was taking to fight off the pain was exhausting him. He also knew that he couldn't take much more of this.

Reluctantly he grabbed the syringe and removed the cap. He stood up, gasping as a sharp pain came from his broken ribs, and put most of his weight on his left leg. He pulled down his underwear and pants, exposing his groin. He tore open an alcohol packet with his teeth and wiped the injection area that he had chosen. He inserted the needle, hissing as he felt the sting as it pierced his skin. His hands shaking, he started to push the morphine into his body.

When he was finished he threw the needle on the table next to the bed. He pulled up his underwear and pants, but didn't bother to button them. He loudly sighed as he carefully sat down and allowed his body to fall back, hitting the soft mountain of pillows behind him. As he fell back pain shot through his upper body. _Damn ribs_.

It only took a few minutes for the morphine to start working. His body cried out in relief, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. _Oh…that is what I needed. See? Just a little bit. That's all I needed._

His mind was already starting to reel from the morphine and he was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open. He felt so good as the numbing medicine began washing over him. He could almost feel it in his veins, could feel it coursing through his body. His eyes started to close against his will and then he smiled as he slipped into a peaceful pain-free place as darkness overcame him.


	18. Chapter 18: Wilson Gives In

A/N: Hope nobody is bored yet, if you are P.M. me and let me know and I'll see what I can do. The story has shifted from House for the moment to Wilson and how the things that House does affects him. Thanks to Jazelle1996 again for all her help.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 18: Wilson Gives In

The next morning played out the same way that the previous one had. Wilson had woken up several times during the night and was tired when he woke up the next morning. He arrived in his office earlier than normal knowing that he had to catch up on the files and charts that he had put aside over the week.

He was sitting at his desk looking over a chart sipping coffee when he heard a knock at his office door. He looked up.

"Come in," he said. He put down the file and waited.

His door opened and Cuddy came into his office.

"Good morning Dr. Cuddy," he said as cheerfully as he could.

"Why did you lie to me?" she asked him point blank as she approached his desk. She sat down in one of the chairs and waited for his response.

Wilson looked at her confused. "I wasn't aware that I had," he said truthfully.

"You said that you were seeing someone," she said, then clarified. "When I had asked you about the therapist…you said that you had gone and that it might take awhile."

"How did you-"

"I ran into Chase this morning."

_Damn. _"Cuddy, I was gonna go, and then the more I thought about it, I couldn't."

"So you lied to me?"

"I'm sorry," Wilson said sounding defeated.

"Wilson, I know Chase has talked to you and now it's my turn. This has been going on for awhile and I've given you time to work it out and you just don't seem to be doing anything about it."

He had hung around House long enough that the moment he started to feel attacked his walls instinctively went up. "It's my decision and I don't want to go."

Cuddy looked at him and was taken back by his behavior. "See," she said pointing at him. "This is **not** the way that you would normally act. Whatever's going on inside your head is affecting your judgment and the way that you behave."

Wilson played back what he had just said and realized that she was right. "I'm sorry," he said apologizing again. "I've just been under a lot of stress and everyone's been bugging me about how I'm doing and I'm just tired of hearing it."

"Wilson, they're bugging you for a reason. You look like hell."

"Like I said, I've been under some stress."

Cuddy's eyes softened and she frowned at him. "Look, I want you to go see a doctor."

Wilson stood up and walked around his desk and started pacing. He was frustrated and just wanted everyone to mind their own damn business.

"Please James?" she asked softly.

He stopped and turned to look at her. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "Fine, I'll go. Chase said he went to see someone. I'll get their name."

Cuddy was relieved. "Promise me that you won't cancel again?"

Wilson nodded. "I promise."

Cuddy smiled, stood up and walked out the door.


	19. Chapter 19: The Return

A/N: I know some may be getting tired of the same old same old, but I'm having fun torturing Wilson, so I'm gonna do it a little longer. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 19: The Return

Wilson kept his word to Cuddy and called Chase a few hours later and got the name of the doctor and made an appointment for the following day at six o'clock in the afternoon. He was beginning to feel ganged up against and had mentioned that fact to Chase when he called him and he had apologized for talking to Cuddy about him without his knowledge.

He made it through the day and had gone back to the apartment, threw his jacket off and collapsed on the couch. His growling stomach signaled that it was time to be fed again so he walked into the kitchen and heated up a can of chicken soup in a pan on the stove. He took the steaming hot soup into the living room and watched an episode of Inside the Actors Studio as he ate. When he was finished he walked back into the kitchen and started to do the dishes.

He had just finished washing the pan and was rinsing it when he heard the front door swing open. He shut off the water, froze and listened. The unmistakable thump-step filled the otherwise silent apartment. Wilson placed the pan in the dish strainer noisily to let House know of his whereabouts.

His anger and worry hit him like a ton of bricks and he wanted desperately to run to his best friend, but he resisted the urge and stood firm in front of the kitchen sink. House limped into the kitchen and walked over to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and started drinking it. Wilson turned to face him.

House saw how bad he looked and felt guilty. "Hey," he said slowly, avoiding Wilson's eyes.

"Hey," Wilson replied back, his voice emotionless, but with a bit of coldness in his tone.

House turned and started to go into the living room.

"Where _were _you! Wilson suddenly yelled at him, surprised at his own outburst.

House just stared at him. "I needed a few days away," he said slowly. He started to walk towards Wilson and put the water bottle on the island that divided the two men.

"Don't! Just don't come near me!" Wilson said. He turned away from House, but he could see that Wilson was fighting back tears. "Do you have _**any** _idea what's been going through my head! You take off with a concussion and two broken ribs and you're gone for days and I have no idea where you are or if you're hurt…or if you're…" his voice trailed off.

House, in all his years of knowing Wilson, didn't think that he had ever seen him this upset. He took another step towards Wilson.

"My best friend is shooting up morphine, popping painkillers, getting into motorcycle accidents, and then going A.W.O.L. and everyone's acting like I have no right to be upset," he said in a whisper, almost as if talking to himself.

"The motorcycle accident wasn't my fault," House said defensively. He grimaced slightly; his ribs were still tender and sore.

"No, House, nothing is ever your fault. It's always someone else's fault. You're always blaming other people for your problems," Wilson said bitterly, but not with anger. "I'm just waiting for you to start blaming me."

House took a closer look at his best friend. "What's going on Wilson?"

_I feel like I'm losing it, that's what's going on._ "Nothing," Wilson replied, turning from House's view.

"Bullshit," House said quickly.

Wilson grabbed the bowl that was sitting on the counter and slammed it into the empty side of the sink, shattering it into a dozen small, sharp pieces. He didn't even know why he had done it. House flinched and watched as Wilson began hastily picking up the pieces of the broken bowl out of the sink. He put the pieces in his palm and then walked over and tossed them in the trash.

He walked past House and went into the living room, House limping slowly behind him. Wilson picked up his coat and fished his keys out.

"Where are you going?"

"You disappear for days and you have the nerve to ask me where I'm going?" he snapped. They stood for a moment starting at each other before House saw Wilson's shoulders sag. "I just need to get out of here for awhile, I'll be back later." House watched in silence as he walked out the front door.

Wilson didn't return until almost two that morning. House was lying in his bed reading a book when he heard the front door open and close. He listened as Wilson went to the bathroom and then settled down on his couch. He was gone the next morning before House woke up.


	20. Chapter 20: More Lies

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to AquaMage, who inspired me to add this chapter. I don't know, makes total sense to me, from her review. So anyways, here it is. This is a special added chapter just for her.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 20: More Lies

That morning when House woke up the first thing that he did was reach for the gray box. His whole body was aching and he felt better as soon as the needle broke through his skin. The morphine coursed through his veins. He waited a minute for it to start to take effect before going to the bathroom and then into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee.

He had poured the coffee and was walking toward the refrigerator to get some milk, when he noticed that there was a note taped to the door handle. He snatched it and opened it.

House,

I want to take a look at your head and ribs today. Meet me in the cafeteria for lunch and then we'll go down to the clinic.

Wilson

House crumpled up the note and threw it into the trash next to the refrigerator. _Yeah, like that is going to happen. _He prepared his coffee and went into the living room to watch his morning talk shows.

He sat on the couch watching television and didn't get up to answer the phone when it started ringing a little after noon. He waited patiently for the recording.

After four rings the answering machine picked up.

"This is House, I'm either busy or screening this phone call and ignoring you. Feel free to leave a message, but I'll most likely ignore that too." BEEP!

"House," Wilson's voice was frustrated and agitated. "Pick up. I know you're there," he said with a sigh. "Fine, I guess I'll see you when I get off work."

House ignored the message and went back to watching All My Children. The rest of the day was spent in a drug induced haze on the living room couch. When Wilson finally arrived back at the apartment a little after seven o'clock he found House sitting on the couch watching The O.C.

He unloaded his things onto the chair. "Did you eat anything for dinner?"

House kept his gaze on the TV and didn't look up. "No, I was waiting to see if you wanted to order something."

Wilson sighed. House looked like crap. He sat on the couch with his right leg propped up on several pillows and was starting to get that pained expression on his face. It was the face that let Wilson know that he was in pain and was trying to hide it.

They agreed on pizza and Wilson phoned in the order. Twenty minutes later the pizza arrived and they ate in silence as they watched TV. After they were finished Wilson took care of the plates and leftovers, happily noting that House had eaten three whole pieces of pizza.

He walked back into the living room and started rummaging through his work bag. He pulled out his stethoscope, which got House's attention immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Wilson grabbed a few other things out of his bag and walked over to House, motioning for him to scoot over so that he could sit next to him. "I told you to meet me today. When you didn't, I brought all the stuff home with me."

"I'm watching television," House pointed out.

"It's only going to take about five minutes, and then you can go back to watching your show," Wilson stated. He waited patiently, until finally House gingerly put down his right leg and moved over, giving Wilson some room.

But as soon as his foot touched the ground it sent a wave of pain through his leg. House visibly stiffened, eyes shutting involuntarily.

"House?" Wilson asked. He went to go to reach for him.

"Don't," House snapped in a low voice.

His last shot had been at five, only two hours ago, but it felt like he was going to need another one soon. The pain was enough that he had trouble controlling it and had started breathing faster. His face and chest were starting to turn a shade of pink from the intensity of the pain. Wilson sat only a foot away from him, watching, but unable to help. After several minutes he saw House start to relax a little. When his breathing was back to normal and House shifted his weight a little without any signs of pain, Wilson proceeded with the exam.

He blew hot air on the end of the stethoscope and rubbed it against the front of his shirt. "Lean forward," he told House.

House complied, but winced.

"Ribs?" Wilson asked, trying to hide his concern. He listened to House's lungs and poked and prodded. He had brought House's medical chart home with him and House watched as he scribbled notes here and there.

"They're sore, I'll live," was House's response.

Wilson quickly cleared him of the concussion. "The ribs are going to be sore for awhile, but the concussion is gone," Wilson said with relief. "Stay here," he said standing. "I'll be right back." House gave him a puzzled look. "I need to get your weight for the chart," Wilson answered.

He really didn't need it for the exam, but he was concerned about House's loss of appetite and recent weight loss. Giving House the excuse that he needed it for the exam to be complete, was the only way that he was going to get him to step on a scale.

He brought the electric scale into the living room and put it at House's feet. After some bitching and moaning House stood up and stepped onto the scale. Wilson looked down at the scale, at the chart, and then down at the scale again, frowning.

House quickly stepped off the scale and slumped slowly back down onto the couch. Wilson stood next to him staring, not saying a word.

House looked up at him. "What?" he asked annoyed.

"House…you only weigh 170 pounds," Wilson said slowly. He had looked online earlier that day for the ideal body weight for someone House's height, six feet-two inches, and found that he was supposed to be right around 190 pounds. "You're about twenty pounds underweight."

House sat watching TV, not meeting Wilson's gaze.

Wilson walked around the couch and sat down next to him. He shut his eyes for a second and then asked the question that was on his mind. "Is it the drugs?"

"Shhh," House said, putting his index finger to his lips. "Marissa is about to tell Summer about the kiss that she had with Alex."

"House," Wilson said annoyed. "It's recorded on your TiVo, you can watch it anytime."

"Alex is a girl," House said stage whispering, enunciating "girl" for added dramatic effect.

Wilson snatched the remote from next to House and muted the television, earning him a dirty look from House. "Turn it back up," House whined.

"Not until you answer me," Wilson said.

House thought for a moment. The morphine and vicodin had dramatically reduced his appetite. "Yes, there, are you happy?"

"Why didn't you say something?" Wilson snapped.

_Because I didn't want you to know_. "It's not a big deal; it's a normal side effect."

"You need to stop lying to me," Wilson said. "I know that talking to me is hard for you, but I need you to try. I need you to trust me."

_I can't. I can't tell you anything. You'd lock me up if you knew what was going on._

"Wilson, just let it go," House said, not looking up from the TV. He snatched the remote back from Wilson, turning it up so loud that it was almost blaring.

Defeated and tired of fighting, Wilson dropped the subject. The rest of the night they sat watching television. Ever once in awhile House would feel Wilson's watching him. He was in pain, his leg and ribs were screaming at him. He needed to get to his bedroom.

A little after eleven o'clock, he stood up carefully, knowing that Wilson was watching his every move, and headed towards his bedroom without saying a word. He limped slowly down the hallway and as soon as he was out of Wilson's line of sight, he slumped heavily against the wall just outside his bedroom. He shut his eyes tightly, breathing hard. His whole body was shaking and he felt like his leg was going to give out on him. He struggled to straighten himself up and limped into his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

With shaky hands he prepared the syringe and injected himself. It had been only five hours since his last shot, but the pain was so bad that he almost hadn't made it into the bedroom. He put the gray box and the other stuff on the night table next to his bed and lay back onto the mountain of pillows.

His body started to relax. He was starting to feel better. He had taken five extra milligrams to ensure that he would feel no pain as he slept. He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	21. Chapter 21: Session One

A/N: I've been doing so good on the updates (pats my own back). Please review! This chapter is a combination of how I would feel in this position, but with consideration to the way that Wilson would behave. It deals with a touchy subject, and I hope that by reading this everyone gets a better understanding of how Wilson is starting to feel. Thanks Jazelle, you know why.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 21: Session One

Wilson got through the next day and when six p.m. drew close he actually debated, again, whether he was really going to go and see the psychiatrist. In the end he decided that it would cause him more problems to not go than it would to just get it over with.

He drove to Princeton General and arrived in the doctor's office a few minutes before his appointment time. He was given a clipboard and some paperwork to fill out. He had just finished it when the receptionist let him know that the doctor was ready to see him.

Wilson opened the door and a young man that looked like he was in his late twenties ushered him in. Dr. Jayson Keel was shorter than Wilson's six feet, of average weight with hazel/green eyes and short brown hair. He was wearing navy blue dress pants, a black belt, a light blue dress shirt with a dark blue striped tie, and a black leather watch. He smiled as Wilson approached his desk.

"Dr. Wilson, I'm Dr. Keel. You can sit in one of the chairs in front of my desk or we can move over to the couches," he said pointing to the two soft, leather couches at the opposite end of the room. "Whichever you prefer," he said.

"The chair is fine," Wilson said as he sat down.

"First, let's take a look at the paperwork you filled out and I need to get a brief medical and family history and then we can begin."

The doctor looked over the paperwork and then went over Wilson's medical history. Wilson noted that he was jotting down notes here and there on his note pad in front of him.

"Okay, so this is a two hour long appointment that I usually call the evaluation session. I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions and we'll talk a lot. The responses to the questions are going to determine what kind of recommendations I make as far as what kind of further treatment and therapy you are going to need."

Wilson nodded, but looked hesitant.

"Have you ever been to a psychiatrist before? You seem a little bit nervous."

"No, this is the first time."

"Are you nervous?"

"No, should I be?" Wilson asked, feeling a little defensive.

"I'm only here to listen. I won't judge you or make light of anything that may be bothering you. We don't have to talk about anything that you don't want to and everything is confidential."

He saw Wilson relax a little.

"I need you to tell me why you came here today."

"My boss and some of my co-workers recommended that I come here."

"Why?"

"I've been going through a real rough time right now and they don't think that I can handle it."

He jotted some more notes down. "Can you give me some idea of what is bothering you?"

"I just filed for divorce two weeks ago from my third wife."

"Okay, how do you feel about that? Are you angry, frustrated, scared?"

Wilson tried to relax_. Here we go_. It was like taking that deep breath before you dove off a diving board. "The divorce was just waiting to happen. She and I have been growing apart for awhile now. We barely talked to one another and we haven't touched each other in months and she…I found out a few weeks ago that she was cheating on me."

More notes jotted down.

"I was upset at first, but then I realized that it wouldn't have worked anyways. I work too much and she needs more attention that I can give her," Wilson said. "We've already talked about her keeping the house, but not receiving alimony from me, so it could be worse," It sounded like he was reading off of a script, without feeling what he was actually saying.

When asked about his job Wilson briefly described his job to the doctor. Until recently Wilson felt that he had been coping with his job-related stress well, but he felt that in the past few months that had all changed.

"Okay, anything else that you want to talk about before I start to ask some more questions?"

Wilson tensed visibly and hesitated. The doctor saw it and frowned.

"Just relax, just talk to yourself as if I wasn't here, I've had patients tell me that imagining that sometimes helps."

"Well, I found out a few days ago that my best friend is shooting up morphine."

They talked briefly about how House's addiction and behavior was affecting Wilson. When they were finished the doctor stood up and walked over to his file cabinet. He grabbed a sheet of paper out and walked back to his desk.

"I'm going to give you this questionnaire and I want you to answer the questions as completely and honestly as you can, okay?" Wilson nodded.

He handed Wilson the paper and he looked down at it. It was a standard test for screening for depression. Wilson froze. He didn't want to take this test. He didn't want the doctor to know how bad things had really become in such a short period of time.

"Dr. Wilson?"

Wilson looked up and realized that he must have been deep in thought and hadn't heard the doctor call his name the first time.

"Sorry," Wilson mumbled. He grabbed a pencil out of a cup on the doctor's desk.

"What were you just thinking?" the doctor asked casually. He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted Wilson to say it.

"I'm…I just…," Wilson tried grasping for the right words. He sat quietly for a second and then placed the pencil back on the desk. "I don't want to do this," he confessed.

"Why not?" the doctor coaxed.

"Look, I'm not depressed, I'm just going through a little bit of a difficult and stressful time," Wilson said trying to convince the doctor.

Dr. Keel sat back and stretched in his chair. "You need to be honest with yourself…and with me if you want me to help you. I've been sitting here listening to you and watching you for almost an hour and a half now and it's pretty clear that you have some major issues that are affecting your life in a negative way." He looked right into Wilson's eyes. "I need you to fill this out for me and I want you to leave comments for each question."

Wilson was torn between just giving in and getting up and walking out. The doctor sat patiently waiting for him to decide. He slowly, reluctantly picked up the pencil with his left hand and started reading the questionnaire.

He took his time answering the questions and leaving comments as the doctor had requested. When he was finished he handed the sheets over to the doctor and waited. But he didn't need to hear the diagnosis. He had taken a psychiatric rotation in medical school and had tried to get House to take a test like the one he had just taken for years, without success. He knew what his responses to the questions meant, and he was dreading it.

"Let's go over this together…okay?" the doctor asked gently. He could tell that Wilson was extremely uncomfortable with what was happening.

"You've noted here that you've been having trouble getting to sleep for awhile now and you wake up a lot during the night and then it takes you awhile to get back to sleep?"

Wilson nodded. "It's like my mind just won't shut off. I'm thinking about work, or Julie and what she's gonna try to pull at the divorce hearing, or if my friend is going to end up killing himself," he said. Then reluctantly added, "I had a nightmare…that he overdosed."

The doctor asked him to tell him about the dream and Wilson reluctantly did. The doctor listened intently and wrote down several notes as Wilson spoke.

"Okay, let's move onto the next question. You said here that your appetite has changed, that you're barely hungry and you have to force yourself to eat? Have you lost any weight as a result?"

"I've probably lost a few pounds, nothing to be concerned about. I just eat a lot less, mostly sandwiches and stuff now. I'm just not hungry, and when I do get hungry, after I eat my stomach gets upset. I used to cook all the time and I really enjoyed it and liked eating the stuff I prepared. Now it just seems like there's no point in cooking for just one person."

"And…" he said looking farther down the sheet, "You say that you've been having trouble concentrating and you've been distracted lately. Also that you feel partly to blame for your friend's drug addiction because you prescribed him the pills that got him addicted in the first place."

"That's right."

"Okay, now there are a few things here that are really concerning me. You say that you've had an extreme lack of energy and that you find it very difficult to get around in the morning and that you're tired most of the day? And…that you rarely do anything fun and have isolated yourself from your colleagues and friends."

"Right, it's like I have no energy, it's gone. All I can do is lie in bed all day long. And when I do that I start to think about stuff at work and grow apprehensive about not doing my job as well as I'd like to," Wilson said, knowing full well how bad that sounded. "As far as activities go, I don't have a lot of free time. I used to watch T.V. and play video games, stuff like that. It just doesn't seem like it's any fun anymore."

It had been so long since someone actually sat down and listened to him without him having to worry about being taunted or teased for feeling this way or that. It was comforting and terrifying at the same time.

"Ok, let's continue. You told me earlier that your friends and co-workers have noticed that you've been irritable and confronted you about it, and that you've been trying to keep them from knowing that anything's wrong, but they have been very persistent."

"I've been doing my best to just go on with my life. When my friend came home two days ago after being missing for those few days…I was so relieved that he was okay, but at the same time I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him; make him see what he's doing to himself."

"I know, it can be very difficult loving a person with an addiction," Dr. Keel said. "Our session is almost over, but I have a few more of the questions from the questionnaire that I'd like you to elaborate on."

Again, Wilson nodded.

"You said that you've had decreased libido and that you and your wife hadn't had sex in almost six months?"

"Yes. She…hasn't wanted to touch me for a long time. That should have been my first clue that things were getting bad, but I've been so wrapped up in work and dealing with my friend that I've put everything else on the back burner," Wilson said. "I've been married three times, and the other two times I was the one who cheated, but this time I was the faithful one. It's been…hard for me." Wilson thought for a moment. "I used to love sex," he said and blushed a little. "I mean, being with her was amazing."

"And now how do you feel about sex?"

"I don't have any interest in it," Wilson said slowly, as if he was just now realizing what the statement meant. "I don't think that I'd have the energy or the desire now even if the opportunity did present itself."

The doctor nodded sympathetically. "Okay, there's one final question. And this one wasn't on the sheet."

Wilson looked at him a little puzzled. He didn't like the sound of that. "Okay…," he said slowly.

"Have you ever felt that you can't go on living the way that you have been or felt like no matter what happens that things aren't going to get any better?"

Wilson was speechless. He sat staring at the doctor.

"Take your time, but I need you to think about it and be absolutely sure of your answer," the doctor said, trying to lessen the anxiety that Wilson was clearly feeling.

Wilson couldn't believe that the doctor was basically asking him if he had ever had suicidal thoughts or ideas.

The doctor sat quietly looking over his notes while Wilson thought about what he was being asked. He had those thoughts where you wondered if anyone would miss you or what it would feel like to not have to hurt anymore.

Anyone who knew Wilson would have never known that he had thought about those things, but he had. He almost couldn't believe that he had thought about them himself. And he didn't want to talk to anyone about it, especially a psychiatrist. But at the same time he just didn't want to hurt anymore, it was overwhelming. He felt like he couldn't do anything right and was beginning to wonder if things were ever going to get any better.

"No," Wilson said as even-toned as he could. He looked right in the doctors eyes and hoped that he would believe him.

"Are you sure?" he sounded skeptical and unconvinced.

"I'm…I …," he said, his voice involuntarily wavering. He suddenly, without warning, felt the tears coming. _What the hell is wrong with me? I'm acting like a hormonal pregnant woman_! He didn't want to cry, so he bit his lip hard. That caused pain, which stopped the tears from forming and distracted him as he took a shaky, deep breath. _Damnit!_ _Okay, just breathe, you're fine. You can do this, **you are fine!**_

The doctor stood up and walked over to sit beside him. He saw Wilson visibly tense. "I need you to talk to me," he said soothingly. "I need to know what you're thinking, what's going on inside your head and we need to work this out."

When Wilson didn't answer he tried a different approach. "Have you told anyone else about these thoughts?"

"No," he said quietly.

"It's good that you're talking to me then, you need to talk about this."

"Yeah well, I don't want to talk about it," Wilson said standing up. He walked over to the window, crossed his arms, and looked out onto the manicured lawn.

"I know, I know it hurts, but I need you to trust me," the doctor said. "Have you thought about how you'd do it? Where you'd do it? Talk to me, Dr. Wilson."

"I just think about…I just don't want to feel this way anymore," Wilson said softly. "Sometimes it feels like it's almost too much."

"Have you ever felt these feeling before?"

"No," it was barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I mean, I'm sure that everyone has thought about it at least a few times in their life."

The doctor nodded. "Do you have a plan, a way of following through with it?"

"No, it's nothing like that. There're just random thoughts," Wilson said.

"Are you sure that you don't have a plan?"

"I'm sure," Wilson said confidently.

The doctor seemed satisfied with that answer and stood up and walked back over to his desk. "You're definitely showing a lot of worrisome signs of a major depression. I would even go so far as to say that you're close to being severely clinically depressed."

Wilson was a doctor. He knew that he was headed down that road. That was why he didn't want to come.

Dr. Keel pulled out his prescription pad and started writing. "I'm going to put you on some medication. I want you to fill it as soon as you leave and take it right away—half a pill for three days and then a whole pill daily after that. And I want to see you next week to see how you're feeling."

"I don't need the meds," Wilson said. He made no move to accept the prescription. "I don't want to be on medication."

"You need to be put on some sort of anti-depressant," the doctor said matter-of-factly. "If you don't I'm concerned that you're only going to get worse." He stood up, walked over and handed Wilson the script. "When someone admits to having thoughts, that is the first sign, a silent cry, for help, Dr. Wilson. You need to consider the severity of your situation."

"We'll start with Lexapro and see if you have any adverse reactions to that. Sometimes it takes a few different drugs before we find out what helps you the best," he said. "You also seem to be experiencing some anxiety and this will help you with both. I'm going to start you on 5 mg. for the first three days and then 10 mg. a day after that. We'll go from there."

Wilson looked down at the script in his hands. He felt drained and ashamed that he had almost started crying in a complete stranger's office. He folded up the paper and stuck it in his left front pocket.

"Thanks," he said mechanically.

The doctor shot him a sympathetic look and put his hand on Wilson's left shoulder. He sighed when Wilson tensed at his touch. "This is going to take some time, and you're not going to feel better right away. It could take several weeks before you start to notice a difference. This didn't happen overnight and it isn't going to be fixed overnight."

Wilson nodded.

"Please consider making a follow-up appointment on your way out," the doctor said. "I really think that if you just get some of the things out that you have bottled inside that things will start to get better."

"I will," Wilson said, feeling a little better. He walked out of the office and made an appointment for the following week. On his way back to the apartment he got his prescription filled and took the half a pill in his car, in the parking lot. Then he tucked the pill bottle in his briefcase and made sure that there was no way that the pills rattling around would be heard. He didn't want anyone, especially House, knowing that he was taking them.


	22. Chapter 22: Emotions Pushed Aside

A/N: Please review. Thanks to all those who are loyal readers, I appreciate it. Not much going on in the next few chapters, but they are necessarily, trust me. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 22: Emotions Pushed Aside

When he arrived back at the apartment he found House sitting on the couch, a bowl of soup lay barely touched on the table, as he watched a television show about vampires. He sat his keys and briefcase on the floor next to the couch, making sure that the bottle of pills that might have rattled wasn't heard, and slumped down into the chair.

"Where were you today after work?" House asked, not looking away from the television. Wilson noted that he sounded irritated and tired. "I tried paging you a little after six, but you didn't answer me. I wanted you to pick up some beer on the way home."

Wilson looked over at him. "I'm sorry, I was in a meeting with a patient's parents and it ran over. I was diagnosing a four year old and I knew it was going to be very emotional for them, so I shut it off."

House quickly turned his head in Wilson's direction. "You should learn to lie better. Keep the lies short; don't give details unless you're questioned."

"What are you talking about?" Wilson asked sounding annoyed.

"You weren't with a patient," House said. He grabbed the remote and turned down the volume on the television and then turned to look at Wilson.

Wilson gave him a confused look. "House-

"I called down to the hospital when you didn't answer my page and they said that you left at five thirty. And no one seemed to know where you'd gone," he added.

"I'm not going to argue with you and I don't want to talk about it," Wilson said. He quickly walked into the kitchen and reached for his tie, slowly removing it. He placed it on the island and then walked over to the fridge. He opened the door and looked at the food, but wasn't hungry. He decided that he'd better get something otherwise House might question his lack of appetite.

He grabbed some bread, cheese, and lunchmeat and made a sandwich then poured himself a glass of milk. When he walked back into the living room House was still sitting on the couch watching TV and hadn't moved. Wilson sat down and took a bite of his sandwich and looked over at him. He had his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face.

He put down his sandwich. "House?"

"What?" he asked softly. He involuntarily let out a soft gasp and before he could protest Wilson rushed to his side.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked concerned.

No response.

"House, look at me," Wilson said as he fought back the urge to touch or comfort him to try to find out what was wrong.

House slowly turned his head. "I went to go to stand and…" he said letting out a hiss.

"What? Is it your ribs?" Wilson asked.

House nodded. "They're just sore." He shifted slightly and shut his eyes again.

"Do you want me to get you your pills?"

It had only been about five and a half hours since his last morphine injection. He knew that he was taking too much and was trying, without success, to cut back. Each time he started to feel the urge to take another injection he made himself wait, but the extra time between shots had only made him agitated as he struggled with the increasingly intense pain. His head had quit hurting, but it had been replaced with the pain from his injured ribs and his leg.

He was so desperate for relief that he was getting ready to tell Wilson to get the pills when he realized that they were in his room, and he didn't want Wilson to go in there. "No, just give me a minute, it's fine."

"No, it's not fine, you're in pain," Wilson insisted. He stood up. "I'm getting your pills. Do you still have that bottle on top of your dresser?"

"I **said** it's fine," House growled.

Wilson sighed exasperatedly and walked down the hallway into his bedroom, where he knew House's extra stash was. He pushed open the door and found out why House hadn't wanted him to retrieve his pills.

There was a capped syringe with morphine in it resting on the bed next to his pillow, along with a tourniquet and a few alcohol packets. Next to the bed on the night stand was a half full vial of morphine and an empty syringe which was lying next to several bloody band-aids.

Wilson suddenly felt anger and sadness, but pushed it aside with some difficulty. He quickly grabbed the pill bottle off the top of the dresser and walked back into the living room. He handed House the bottle and walked over and grabbed his plate of food. He walked into the kitchen and dumped the sandwich in the garbage and poured the milk down the drain. He took a few deep breaths and then went back into the living room.

House was sitting with his eyes closed, willing the pills to take effect quickly. He didn't look over at Wilson, but knew that he was standing in the archway that separated the two rooms, watching him.

"I told you not to get them," House said roughly. Wilson almost thought he heard a tinge of sadness or regret in his voice as he spoke.

"You don't have to protect me, House," Wilson said as he took a few steps toward him. "It's not like it's a secret anymore."

"I know, I just…" House's words trailed off.

"What?" Wilson asked as he placed his hands on his hips.

He looked up at Wilson and then looked away again, focusing back on the TV.

Wilson walked over and grabbed his keys beside his briefcase. "I'm gonna go get that beer that you wanted me to get earlier; I'll be back in a little while."

House nodded and watched as Wilson walked out his door. It was the second time in two days that Wilson had felt the need to leave the apartment when normally he would just have dealt with House and what was going on. And as much as House didn't want to admit it, it was starting to bother him.


	23. Chapter 23: Wilson's Decision

A/N: Okay, so unfortunately I am not a doctor, so I am just going on what the internet gave me for information regarding dosages and stuff. For this and any future chapters, if anyone sees anything that doesn't quite match up, medically wise, let me know and I'll fix it. Thanks to Jazelle for being my beta. This chapter is really short, sorry. The next one will hopefully be longer.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 23: Wilson's Decision

Wilson came back about a half and hour later with the beer. He handed House one, put one on the table for him, and put the rest in the fridge for later. He walked back into the living room and sat down, turning his attention to House. He looked calm, relaxed…and pain free.

"You took another shot didn't you," Wilson asked as he took a drink of his beer.

House didn't answer and wouldn't take his eyes off the latest episode of General Hospital that his TiVo had recorded earlier that day.

"I saw that you had 35 mg. drawn up in the syringe, is that your normal dosage now?" Wilson asked. The site of the syringe and tourniquet just lying on House's bed had shaken him more than he had wanted to admit. It really brought home to Wilson how urgent House's situation had become and every day it was coming closer to bordering on becoming a crisis.

"I don't want you going into my room to snoop anymore."

"I was getting you your pills. I was only trying to help you. God forbid anyone does that." Wilson took another drink of his beer.

"How often do you take it?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm not kidding, stop it."

"Once a day? Twice a day?" Wilson asked. He was watching House, looking for that subtle reaction that only he could detect. He had trained himself to look for it in the years that they had been friends.

House didn't move. He knew what Wilson was trying to do, and it was starting to piss him off.

"Three times a day?"

No response.

Wilson sighed. So he was using more than three times a day…this wasn't good. "Four?"

House breathed in ever so slightly, again with such ease that only Wilson would have seen it. It gave Wilson the answer that he was looking for.

"Four times a day," Wilson stated, more than questioned.

House stood up, empty beer in hand, and walked into the kitchen. Wilson stood and followed. He found House reaching into the fridge for another beer. House popped the top off the beer and took a long chug. He just wanted Wilson to leave him alone. He was feeling pretty good from the morphine and the beer, but Wilson's little game of twenty questions was quickly ruining his mood.

"I'm going to look at apartments tomorrow after work," Wilson stated. "I've stayed here too long, and now that the divorce is going through I really need to get my own place."

House shrugged. "You do what you have to."

"Yeah," Wilson said softly. His sudden decision to leave, unbeknownst to House, wasn't about the finalization of his divorce. It was about his inability to deal everything that was going on in his life, and that included House's growing addiction.

The rest of the night the two men barely spoke to each other and nothing further was said about the morphine or Wilson's sudden urgency to move out. They both went to bed shortly before midnight, but both lay awake for hours afterwards. The uneasy quietness that had settled between the two of them that evening had bothered both of them.

When House finally awoke the next morning a little after eight a.m., Wilson had already left for work.


	24. Chapter 24: Moving Day

A/N: Okay, so I know the chapters have been short later, but at least I'm updating more often, that is a good thing right? So, anyways, in the next few chapters I am going to be jumping forward in time a bit, I am getting tired of the everyday stuff and want to get into the better, juicier stuff with our two lead characters. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my beta and all that other fun stuff that she does for me. However, she is going to be detained for quite awhile with some personal stuff so I am looking for a new beta. If you're interested please p.m. me.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 24: Moving Day

A week later…

Although House hadn't actually believed Wilson when he said that he was going to go apartment hunting, he was proven wrong six days later when Wilson announced that he had found a place only five minutes away from House's and that he would be moving out the following day.

House awoke that next morning and found all of Wilson's belongings strewn across his couch and all over the floor next to the living room coffee table.

"Jesus, I didn't realize how much of your crap was infesting my living quarters," he said in mock disgust at the huge pile of mostly dress clothes on the couch and two other huge piles of miscellaneous articles lying next to it. Several clerical filing boxes were sitting next to the couch, some empty, some with Wilson's unique doctor's scrawl on them, indicating that they were already full.

"Sorry, I had to get all of it out of the house. Julie threatened to throw it out the window or send it to the Goodwill store," Wilson said sadly.

"No furniture? Not even the television?" House asked as he carefully knelt down and opened up a box that he had been staring at and picked up the first thing at the top.

"No, I let her keep all that. It was all outdated and old anyways. I have the money; I'm gonna go later today and buy all new stuff," Wilson said as he stacked the last of his medical journals into a nice, neat, organized pile. He went to go and grab an empty box to put them in when he realized that House, whom he had had his back turned against, was holding something in his hands, kneeling on the floor.

"What?" Wilson asked as he walked over to him.

House held up the picture frame which drew Wilson's attention. He looked down at it to get a better look. The two men in the picture were both suntanned, dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts and House had his arm wrapped around Wilson in the picture, huge smiles on their faces. It had been taken only months before the infarction at a baseball game that the two had attended one weekend.

Wilson bent down and took the picture from House, who then stood up and they both took a closer look at the picture Wilson frowned as he remembered that day, suddenly feeling very sad. He missed that part of House; the person that he had been who was now disappearing before his eyes. He missed his best friend, and every day he lost more hope that he would ever get that person back again.

"God, you looked young," House remarked as he gazed down at the picture, bringing Wilson back to the present. Just looking at it made House sad and painfully aware of what had become of him and his friendship with Wilson.

"Yeah," Wilson said softly, also with a note of sadness. He quickly put it back, faced down in the box and closed it.

He stood up and looked at House, and House wasn't surprised that he had a wounded, hurt look on his face.

Both men stood silent for a moment before Wilson spoke again.

"Um," he said looking around. "I think that's it." He shoved the medical journals into the box and shut the lid, labeling it with a black permanent marker. He quickly took a mental invoice of his belongings.

He had remembered to take his hair dryer and toiletries out of the bathroom and his personal cooking stuff out of House's kitchen. The spare closet in the hallway had been searched thoroughly and all his clothes and shoes were accounted for. He looked at his effects in boxes and small piles in the middle of the living room and surprisingly felt pathetic. His entire identity was in only a dozen or so boxes along with a few small piles; that was all that was left of his life.

"Yeah, looks like it," House said. He walked into the kitchen, got a cup of coffee and then walked back into the living room.

Wilson took a sip of his own coffee still hot on the table, and then picked up the first box. "It's going to take me a few trips, but I'll have all this cleared out in a couple of hours," he said as he walked toward the front door.

House quickly got ahead of him and opened the door wide.

"Thanks," Wilson said, meeting his eyes for only a second before he stepped out into the hallway and down the front steps to his car parked out front.

House watched his only friend go, saddened as he realized that Wilson really _was _leaving. He had actually gone through with it. There would be no more playing pranks on him or teasing him about his hair in the morning. He was going to be alone again.

But then House thought about the growing urges that he had been having lately. Even as he thought about it, it only made him want to walk into the bedroom -- knowing that Wilson was right outside -- and take another shot. No, maybe it was better if Wilson did go, that way he wouldn't have to see it. Somehow, House knew Wilson wouldn't have to question whether every time he went into his bedroom if that was what he was doing.

_It's better if he goes_, House decided. _It's best that he gets as far away from me as he can_, he thought to himself. 

Then he started to think about Wilson's own strange behavior lately. He wondered if Wilson knew that he had noticed any changes. Of course he had, how could he not have. His leg was crippled for God's sake, but he wasn't blind.

Wilson had spent the rest of that Thursday morning moving his things into the new apartment. He didn't ask House to help and probably wouldn't have let him even if he had offered.

He had gone to a local furniture place the day before and picked out a nice beige couch and love seat, coffee table, television stand, dining room table and chairs and a three piece oak bedroom set. After that he had gone to Bed Bath and Beyond and got new sheets, towels, dishes, bath accessories, and anything else that he needed.

His new two bedroom apartment was in a nice part of town, appropriately on the ground level of the building. There were only two steps up to the apartment and House would easily be able to manage them if he ever wanted to come visit him.

The front door opened into a wide hallway with a huge closet to the right. Just beyond the hallway to the right was the large living room that had a huge picture window with two smaller windows on each side. The living room took up the whole width of the apartment and off to the far right of it, against the back of the closet, was the medium sized kitchen.

Beyond the living room was another hallway leading to the two bedrooms. Both were to the right of the hallway, the guest bedroom first, and then Wilson's bedroom. At the end of the hallway was the bathroom. The walls were all white and the carpet was a plush beige color that would go with almost anything that Wilson decided as far as decorations went.

Right before he carried the last box out to his car, he had given House a spare key to his apartment. "Because I have one to yours," Wilson had answered when House had asked him why he had given it to him.

As he stepped off the curb to get into his car Wilson promised to invite House over for dinner at the new apartment soon. House had watched him pull away from the curb as he drove away to his new home.

As soon as he was gone House shut the front door behind him and walked into his bedroom. He hadn't taken a shot in almost five and a half hours and his body was screaming in pain. His muscles, bones, and head were killing him. Just thinking about it made him hurt more; crave it more, as if his body was signaling to him that he had to get some soon.

He sat down on his bed and without a second thought he grabbed the vial off his night table and placed it next to him. He opened a sterile syringe from its plastic wrapper, and ripped open an alcohol wipe with his teeth. He picked up the vial and stuck in the syringe, drawing up 40 milligrams. He turned slightly to the left, pulling at his left pant leg. He put it up on the bed and drew his foot close to him, feeling the coldness of the alcohol from the wipe as he gently swabbed between his toes and then positioned the syringe.

The liquid stung as it went in, but it was worth it as the sting from the tiny stick was quickly replaced by an intense relief, both physically and mentally, as he felt the morphine enter his system. He sighed and closed his eyes as he felt it rush through him. He finished pushing the drug in and then put the cap back on the syringe, placing it back on the table. He shifted himself on the bed and fell back into his pillows.

He instantly felt better. His body went limp and his muscles started to slowly relax. He breathed in and out, feeling it as it started in his leg and traveled up his body. God, it felt so good. His leg didn't even hurt, nothing hurt. Everything was fine.

Everything was okay.

He was fine.

He would be okay.


	25. Chapter 25: Drowning

A/N: Thanks to Jazelle1996 for her wonderful skills as a beta. Thanks to all who keep reviewing. I am still looking for a new beta. If you're interested, or know someone who is, please private message me and let me know! Thanks.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 25: Drowning

It has been almost a week since Wilson had moved out of House's apartment and he still hadn't invited him over for dinner like he had promised. He had gotten several calls from him, and they had talked on the phone, but each time Wilson had come up with an excuse as to why he couldn't have him over.

But the truth was he didn't want House, or anyone else for that matter, to see his apartment at the moment. If they had, they would have known instantly that something was very wrong.

He hadn't even bothered to unpack any of the boxes with his personal belongings in them. He piled and shoved them to the far corner of the spare bedroom and didn't give them a second thought after he'd shut the door behind him as he left the room.

Wilson had instructed the delivery men where to place the furniture in the living room and bedroom. He put the towels, bath mats, and other stuff in the bathroom and had made the bed with the new sheets and comforter. All his cooking utensils and various other kitchen items were put in their proper places. But no pictures or any type of knick knack adorned the tops of any of the furniture or shelves, showing no trace of the personality of the man who lived there.

He ignored his message machine blinking with phone calls and although he had the sense to take his dishes into the kitchen when he was done eating, he let them pile up in the sink. He left the towels hanging wet on the shower bar, and books and magazines were piled here and there in the living room. A huge pile of laundry was already accumulating inside his bedroom closet, and he didn't have the energy or the desire to take care of any of it.

The anti-depressants that the doctor prescribed obviously weren't helping, so Wilson had stopped taking and hadn't gone back for his follow-up visit. He knew that he was being stupid and incredibly stubborn about the whole psychiatrist thing, but he pushed it aside. He knew that he should go and get his meds adjusted; he knew that he should talk to someone about how he was feeling, but he just couldn't.

The depression had been coming on for awhile now and when it finally started to make its presence known, Wilson felt overwhelmed and exhausted. He hated the thought of having to go to work and having everyone tell him that he looked like crap or that he should have a more positive attitude about things. He was slowly getting used to the way that he was feeling.

At work he put on a stellar act, one that House would even be proud of. He dressed immaculately, got to work on time, and although he was quiet, he smiled a lot to give others the impression that things were fine. He stood tall and walked with an energetic stride. After two very convincing interrogations in which he explained to Cuddy and Chase that he was still feeling tired and stressed from the divorce and move, and that he was seeing the psychiatrist, they had stopped bothering him.

At night he would crawl into bed, his mind still wide awake though he tried his best to force himself to sleep. In the morning the process of living a lie started all over again. He felt like he was losing his mind, drowning, and it was so bad that his mind had started involuntarily thinking about hurting himself.

Where would he be? How would he do it? How could he make sure that House would not be the one to find him? Then suddenly he would react almost as if he had been physically slapped when he realized what he had been thinking about.

He was afraid and embarrassed and blamed himself and hated himself for letting things get this bad. He was worried about what might happen to him if he told anyone, what his doctor and colleagues would say, and that fact alone kept him from asking for help.


	26. Chapter 26: Dinner Plans

A/N: Thanks to Jazelle1996 for continuing to beta for me and to everyone who reviewed.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 26: Dinner Plans

Despite all the bitching and complaining that House had done while working at the hospital, he had shown up there several times since he had been put on medical leave and had kept in touch and talked frequently over the phone with his team and Cuddy.

Wilson was standing in the clinic lobby at the desk signing out for lunch when he turned to walk towards the front doors and saw House coming through the door of the main entrance of the hospital.

_Great. _He walked out the clinic door and tried to walk towards the elevators without House seeing him, but didn't have that good of luck. House spotted him and called out his name to get his attention.

"Wilson!" he hollered as he started walking quicker to catch up to him.

Wilson turned around. There was no point in trying to ignore him or pretend that he didn't hear him.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Wilson asked as he pushed the up button for the elevator.

"I came to see you," he said as he looked Wilson up and down. "To find out why you've been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you," Wilson said as they both stepped into the elevator.

House looked at him more closely. "Now you're avoiding the question about you avoiding me."

Wilson gave him an exasperated look.

"When are you going to invite me over for that dinner that you promised?" House asked irritated as they walked down the hallway towards Wilson's office. "I've been living off of peanut butter and jelly and soup."

Wilson unlocked his office door and stepped inside, House following him. "I don't know, I'll give you a call."

House sat down in one of the chairs in front of Wilson's desk. He watched Wilson sit down and pinch the bridge of his nose with his left hand. "You're avoiding giving me an answer now."

Wilson's head was killing him. He just wanted House to shut up and leave so that he could pop some aspirin and try to get some work done before his patient showed up for their appointment in an hour.

"How about I come over on Saturday, I'll bring the beer and movies, and you do the cooking," House offered.

"Fine, that sounds good," Wilson said breaking into a small smile.

He kept smiling as he watched House stand up and walk towards the door. "I'll see you Saturday around six o'clock," and then left, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as the door was shut and Wilson was alone the smile faded from his face.


	27. Chapter 27: Suspicion

A/N: A special thanks goes out to ezraschild, who has been my savior lately. This story is getting very complicated very quickly and I would just like to thank all those who have continued to read and review. I would also like to let everyone know that a lot of the information in this and upcoming chapters is based on actual experiences. And a million thank you's to my tortured beta, Jazelle1996. Without her and her massive amount of patience, this would have been abandoned long ago.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 27: Suspicion

As soon as House had left his office Wilson pulled out his cell phone and arranged for his cleaning lady to come by on Saturday morning to do his laundry and clean his apartment before House came over.

The rest of the week went by slowly and Wilson started to look forward to the weekend. Saturday was the only day that he had been able to take off that week, so he was relieved when Friday morning finally arrived. But that morning he had so much trouble trying to get out of bed and getting around for work that he had considered calling in sick.

He was stiff and sore and was really starting to feel the effects of not eating properly. He was lightheaded and the nausea that he was feeling was almost agonizing. He felt sick, but knew that he needed to eat something. But once he did, the nauseous feelings were so severe that it made him reconsider eating anything at all.

It seemed like every step, every breath, was almost unbearable and exhausting. He was tempted to call into work, but managed to force himself out of bed just in time to throw on fresh clothes, wet down his hair, shave, brush his teeth and rush out the front door without being late for work.

He kept telling himself he was just under stress, but he wasn't feeling any better and he couldn't deny the fact that he was starting to have trouble concentrating at work. He would read something, but then would have to read it over and over because he couldn't remember what he had just read; sometimes even the smallest task seemed huge to him. His shoulders and neck were becoming knotted and tight from lying in bed all the time.

Friday night he came home after work, forced himself to eat a piece of toast and drink a glass of milk, and then went to do some research online. He had turned the spare bedroom into a guest room and office. He opened the door and couldn't help but notice the dozen or so boxes stacked in the corner. He would have put them in the closet if he had the energy but he didn't, so he turned on the computer and tried to ignore them.

He was up until almost four in the morning surfing the internet then watching television and even then he didn't feel like he could force himself to sleep. So he lay in bed and finally dozed off a little after six o'clock. He woke up again at around 8 o'clock and went to the bathroom and then tried to lie back down. He heard the front door open as the cleaning lady let herself in.

He had instructed her to do so and left a list of things that needed to be done. He had rounded up all his dirty clothes and had put them in two large clothes baskets in the living room next to the couch.

He lay curled up on his right side, hugging the pillows listening to her as she vacuumed and cleaned. She left a little after noon and he stayed in bed for the rest of the day.

He must have dozed off sometime a little after three o'clock that afternoon because the next thing he was aware of was someone poking him on his left shoulder. He turned and looked up to see House's crystal clear blue eyes staring down at him as he jabbed him with the end of his cane.

_What time was it? Did I oversleep_? "Hey," he said groggily as he sat up. He was only wearing boxers and for some strange reason he suddenly felt self conscious and pulled the covers up over himself.

The gesture didn't go unnoticed by House, but he didn't comment on it. "What are you doing still in bed? Rough night with that hooker again? Jimmy, I told you not to pick the redheads, they're always trouble," House said smirking.

But Wilson's response was anything but funny. He felt angry for letting himself be caught in bed by House. He needed to say something to take the focus off of him. "Two hookers," Wilson replied. "I wore them right out."

House looked down at him. Something wasn't right with the way Wilson was acting, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it.

Regardless of his trepidation he said, "That's my boy! I've taught you well! But I didn't know you were _that_ insatiable, Jimmy."

Wilson smiled weakly and started moving his head left and right looking around his bedroom for his alarm clock. When he couldn't find it he sighed loudly, "What time is it?"

"It's almost five o'clock," House answered. Wilson still hadn't given him a real reason as to why he was still in bed.

"You're early," Wilson mumbled as he stood up. House's keen eyes noted a slight weight loss, mostly around the ribs, shoulders, and hip bones, but again, didn't say anything.

"I brought movies and beer," House proudly announced.

Wilson let a small smirk spread across his face. "I'm going to go take a shower really quick," Wilson said as he started rummaging through his dresser drawers, grabbing a pair of socks and underwear, and then went into his closet to get a shirt and pants.

House nodded. "Sounds good to me. I was wondering what that nasty smell was. Knew it wasn't me; I have on clean socks."

Wilson rolled his eyes and walked out of the bedroom. House watched as he shuffled into hall and followed as Wilson stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. For someone who had just supposedly woken up, he seemed really tired, but more than just physically tired. It was more like drained of all energy he might normally have had. House turned, walked back out into the living room, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV to an old episode of M.A.S.H.

He heard the shower start and then the sound of the shower curtain being closed. After a short five minutes Wilson's answering machine beeped loudly. House hadn't heard any phone ring; Wilson must have turned the ringers off. He looked at the bathroom door, and still hearing the water running fully, he leaned across the couch arm and hit, 'play.'

"Dr. Wilson, this is Janet from Dr. Keel's office. We were just calling to let you know that you missed your appointment on Thursday and the doctor really needs to see how you're adjusting to your medication. Please give us a call so that we can set up a follow-up appointment. Thank you, bye."

House froze. _Wilson was seeing a doctor? He was on medication? _House's mind went into overdrive. _How sick was he? Was it cancer? Why hadn't Wilson said anything? _House was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice when Wilson walked back into the living room, freshly showered, dressed, and primped immaculately.

House looked up at him and Wilson returned a small smile. He looked tired, but he didn't appear to be sick. But then again, looks could be deceiving. House remembered seeing Chase's dad and had he not seen the food he had eaten for breakfast or the mark on his neck that had been used to guide his radiation treatments, he would have never known that he was sick and only had a few months to live.

"What?" Wilson asked, as if he were a ten year old boy being caught wrapping his veggies in a napkin and then sitting on it to hide it. He walked over and sat down on the couch.

House resisted the urge to blurt out anything about Wilson potentially being sick. Instead he quickly reached down to the coffee table in front of him and picked up three movies that he had rented on the way over. "It's your turn to pick," he said casually.

He handed them over to Wilson, who quickly looked at the titles of the movies. "You brought porn?" Wilson asked as he looked up at House, almost laughing. He quickly looked back down and turned the DVD case over to start reading the description on the back, chuckling softly to himself.

House shrugged. "I didn't know about your little escapade with the two hookers last night, and besides, it beats watching your internet porn on that little 13" monitor."

"That it does, but I'm probably gonna have to go with the action one, I'm in the mood for violence," Wilson said. "Not that last night wasn't filled with enough action and violence to last me awhile," he said grinning wickedly.

"Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, what am I gonna do with you?" House asked. "Resorting to hookers…I must be a bad influence on you. Don't tell me you couldn't get that cute little nurse from down in pediatrics at the hospital to take care of things for you?"

Wilson knew that he had to be quick witted and respond with the sarcasm that House was used to, but already just thinking about retorts was making his head hurt. "I think she's dating someone."

"When has that ever stopped you?" House asked. "Come on Wilson, I know that you can't go a week without sex. I'm dying to hear all the juicy details."

_If only you knew_, Wilson thought to himself. _Then again, if you did, you'd only make fun of me_. "I've decided that I'm gonna try not to get involved with anyone right away this time," Wilson said, his playfulness gone, voice serious. "You were right, I'm needy and I crave being needed…and I don't want to keep feeling that way. I don't want to run blindly into another marriage that's doomed to fail. I need to learn to be on my own."

"God, all those thoughts about hookers and nurses, I was starting to get all worked up, what a way to ruin the mood, Ace," House shot back with a grin.

Wilson laughed. It felt good. He couldn't remember the last time that he had laughed. "Besides with hookers you pay for what you want right? It's a job for them, that way I don't have to get emotionally attached."

"That's right, and you just happen to have a superb teacher sitting in front of you," House said. He carefully removed the disc from the plastic case and walked over to the DVD player and put it in the machine.

"I want to learn to be independent House, not alienate everyone," Wilson pointed out.

"You say potato, I say potatoe," House said as he sat back down. "I'm thirsty."

"Sure, I'll get it," he said as he stood up.

"I brought beer," House said. "And none of that piss water crap you drink, I bought the good stuff."

"Good beer and porn, oh you do know how to seduce me don't you?" Wilson asked mockingly. He walked into the kitchen to get the drinks.

"What are we gonna have for dinner and when are we eating?" House asked as he absentmindedly flipped through the television channels. His mind was still half occupied on trying to figure out what could be wrong with Wilson.

"I'm making steak, baked potatoes, fresh corn on the cob, and a small salad, with coconut cream pie for dessert," Wilson said from the kitchen.

"Yum," House answered. He forwarded the movie past all the previews to the main menu and pushed play.

Wilson came back into the living room holding an orange soda in one hand and a beer in the other, which he handed to House. House mentally noted the fact that Wilson wasn't drinking a beer.

"I'll start on dinner in about a half an hour," he said as he popped the top on the soda and sat down on the sofa to drink it.

"Good, I'm starving."

They watched the movie and chatted away as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on with either of them. Wilson cooked dinner for them, which was excellent and when they were finished he took the dishes out into the kitchen, put them in the sink, and then got them both a good size slice of pie.

They ate slowly, savoring the incredible sweet taste. When they got finished eating they sat and continued watching part of the second DVD until Wilson glanced over at House and saw that he was not paying much attention to the movie. He was starting to rub his leg.

"Leg bothering you?" Wilson asked. House turned and looked at him. He was sweating slightly and looked preoccupied.

"Hmpfh," House muttered turning his attention back to the movie. He knew that he was going to be at Wilson's for several hours and had thought ahead; he had brought a capped syringe half full of morphine. It was sitting in his jacket pocket and he decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He stood up and grabbed the jacket. "I'll be right back," he said, not meeting Wilson's eyes.

Wilson knew immediately what he was going to do. "You don't have to hide it. I know what you're doing, House."

He stopped a few steps away from the couch but didn't turn to face Wilson. He stood for a moment, trying to decide what to say, and then opted to say nothing. He hated the fact that Wilson could read most of his thoughts and emotions just by his body language. He knew that Wilson was concerned about his drug usage and that although he knew what he was about to do, he had purposely not pushed the issue; he had respected House's wishes and hadn't said anything to deter him.

Wilson really was a good friend and as the days went by House began to feel even more like crap for the fact that he wasn't a good friend in return. Torn between sitting back down or giving into the cravings, he made his decision quickly and tucked the jacket under his arm, walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.


	28. Chapter 28: Glimpses Of The Truth

A/N: Okay, so I seem to be back to at least wanting to write for awhile. Reviews and whatnot are appreciated more than you will know. Special thanks to Ezraschild for being my inspiration in a way and to Jazelle1996 for being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 28: Glimpses of the Truth

When he came back out of the bathroom he found Wilson still on the smaller couch curled up, eyeing him intensely.

When House sat down slowly, his face showing a slight tinge of discomfort. Wilson's eyebrows shot up. "What, didn't you take any?"

House turned sharply towards him. "I took just enough to keep my leg and the rest of me from screaming out in pain. I need to be able to drive home tonight," he answered.

Wilson thought for a moment and then asked a question that had been on his mind since he had learned that House had been taking morphine regularly. "How much did you take?" he asked, trying to sound more like a doctor than a worried best friend.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna fall asleep while I'm driving home if that's what you're worried about," House countered. He shifted slightly on the couch and put his attention back on the movie.

"That's not it," Wilson said slowly. "House-, just talk to me, for once in your life," he pleaded. He stood up and walked behind the couch he was sitting on and looked out the window. "I worry about you, you know," he said quietly, not facing him.

"Wilson, can we _not_ do this tonight?" House asked, but it sounded almost suspiciously like a plea to Wilson. House's head was starting to hurt and the 10mg of morphine that he had taken weren't working nearly as well as he had hoped. His leg was starting to feel better, but the rest of his body was still screaming for relief.

Wilson turned and looked down at his friend; his suffering friend, and felt helpless and angered both at the same time. House's voice sounded pained, defeated. Wilson hated seeing him that way. It had been a long time; right after the infarction was the last time that he had seen him so worn out and…vulnerable. It was just one more piece of evidence that proved that the morphine was slowly changing his best friend into someone that he wasn't.

Wilson reached his hand around and started rubbing his neck. He had been the strong, brave one tonight. He wanted to tell House what was going on, he really did, but he didn't want to burden him with anymore of his personal troubles. And he was at a loss as to what to do to help them both.

"Ok," he said as he walked back over to the front of the smaller couch and sat down again.

House was hyper-aware of everything going on around him at that point. The morphine dulled things, made him sleepy and groggy. Without it, everything seemed to stand out. Every little noise and action seemed to scream out in his head. He needed to get home and knock himself out, he hated feeling this way.

He turned to Wilson, who was still watching him from the other couch. "I'm gonna go home, I don't feel good," he said as he carefully stood up, grabbed his jacket, and started for the door.

"You can stay if you want to, sleep on the couch, or I've got a spare bed in the guest room," Wilson offered. His mind was instantly brought to House's recent motorcycle accident. He was still very leery of him driving anywhere. Granted the motorcycle was still in the repair shop getting worked on, but that still didn't put him to ease.

House shook his head. "No, I…I need to go home Wilson," he said as he looked up at his friend. Their eyes met for a moment and Wilson thought that he saw a flicker of shame, or possibly embarrassment, in House's eyes.

Wilson nodded. "Ok, but be careful House, _please_. And call me when you get home?" he asked as he watched House slip on his trainers and walked to the door to escort him out.

"I will _Dad_," House answered mockingly. He reached for the door and opened it. "Thanks for the food and stuff. We should do it more often," he said as he stepped out into the hallway.

Wilson smiled weakly. "Yeah, we should."

He watched as House turned and walked out the front door. Wilson shut his apartment door behind him and walked down the hallway into his bedroom. He collapsed on his bed and curled up with some pillows; it had been a long day.

House drove back to his apartment and when he got there he humored Wilson and called him to let him know that he had gotten home okay. After he got off the phone with him he went into his kitchen and fished out a phone book out of his junk drawer. He quickly looked up Dr. Keel's name in the phone book, and found out that he was a psychiatrist.

_Why would Wilson be seeing a psychiatrist? _


	29. Chapter 29: Cruel Intentions

A/N: This chapter is actually a continuation of Chapter 28, I just felt that they needed to be separated. Thanks to all who reviewed last time!! It made me feel appreciated and supported. Thanks to Ezraschild for her friendship and Jazelle1996 for her lovely work as my beta. Sorry the updates are taking so long, I am still fighting writer's block and am having trouble deciding where I want the story to go.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 29: Cruel Intentions

He was back in "sarcastic bastard mode" the following day. The night before he had decided that he needed to find out why Wilson was seeing the psychiatrist. So he went down to the hospital and walked into Wilson's office without knocking. He looked up from his paperwork startled.

"House! You need to learn how to knock," Wilson said annoyed. He should've been used to House barging in for as often as he did it, but sometimes, especially when he was stressed out from a patient, it still bothered him. He quickly shut the chart he was working on and gave House a look of pure annoyance.

House walked over and stood in front of his desk.

"How long have you been crazy?" he asked with a hint of venom in his voice. "I mean, because it seems like I would have noticed by now."

Wilson gave him a confused look. "I don't know what you're talking about and I don't have time to figure it out. I have a patient that I'm supposed to be meeting with in ten minutes and I have to get their file in order," he said as he reopened the chart and started making notes in the margin.

"Let me make it easy for you…you're seeing a shrink," House explained. He sat down slowly, not taking his eyes off Wilson.

Wilson could feel the color draining from his face. House watched him as he put down his pen. "I went once because Cuddy made me."

"Okay," House said slowly. He put his cane down next to the chair in front of Wilson's desk and leaned back, getting comfortable. "And what, you didn't like it? Did the shrink make you talk about how your Mommy or Daddy touched you in a bad place when you were little?"

Wilson threw his pencil down and grabbed the patient's file in his left hand. "You can be a real ass sometimes," he said as he stood up and started for the door.

"So they did touch you in a bad place?" House asked casually as he turned his head to look at Wilson.

"No, of course not," Wilson shot back. "But still, sometimes it amazes me how much of a bastard you can be."

"Oh, come on! You know that I'm kidding!" House shot back.

"No, you see, that's part of the problem," he said. "It doesn't matter if you're kidding or not, things like that aren't funny. It seems like over the years I would've earned at least a little compassion from you…boy was I ever wrong," he said as he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" He asked as he stood up, preparing to follow Wilson out of his office. But Wilson stopped just a few feet from the door and turned to face House.

"I told you, I have a meeting," Wilson snapped.

"You always want to talk, and now, suddenly you don't? Well, now's your chance," he said, continuing to egg Wilson on.

"The only reason why you want to talk now is because you're curious. You're stuck at home, you're bored and you're desperate to come up with ways to amuse yourself, and just because you found out that I went to see a psychiatrist, I've suddenly become interesting to you again," he said bitterly.

"Did you fall on your head or something?" House sat watching him with interest.

Wilson gave him a puzzled, angry look.

"_You're_ the one who's been avoiding _me_. You've been using every excuse that you can come up with to keep from having to hang out with me and you never want to go anywhere anymore. You're agitated, passive-aggressive, and defensive every time anyone tries to talk to you and I want to know why."

"What, you've been going around the hospital asking about me? How typical of you," Wilson said. "Never go to the source of the situation, because as you say "everybody lies".

"No, but the nurses have big mouths. You seem to be on the front page of this week's issue of 'Princeton Plainsboro Gossip Weekly'. Everyone is talking about your recent mood swings and behavior. I just happened to overhear some of it," House said innocently.

"What goes on in my personal life is none of your business, House," Wilson said slowly. He had moved from his spot only a few feet from the door and was staring intently at House. "And even if I did want to talk about it, which I _don't, _you'd be the last person that I would go to."

"Why? What are you afraid of?" House asked.

"Just stay out of it, House! I mean it!" Wilson said as crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wanted to make it abundantly clear that this was something that he would not back down on.

"It might be interesting having a crazy best friend -- might take some of the attention away from me," he said absentmindedly as he turned away from Wilson and stretched back in the chair, looking out into the balcony.

"See! This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything! Everything is a joke to you! 'Ha, ha, look at poor, screwed up Wilson! He can't seem to do anything right! He cheats on his wives and can't make them happy and he's too stupid to realize when someone's cheating on him. He spends all day watching people die and he's not a good enough doctor to save any of them! He's a pathetic excuse for a human being who's needy and clingy and falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat and makes himself sick with worry over his best friend who doesn't give a shit about him!'"

Wilson was breathing hard, as if the yelling had taken a huge amount of energy and zapped it out of him. He put his hands on his hips in a defiant pose, but his eyes told a different story; they were sad and weary.

"You aren't invincible, House! You're just as human as everyone else, and you're so deep in denial that you can't even see how sick _you_ are!" he said with desperation in his voice.

House sat there speechless; Wilson had never yelled at him like this before. He thought carefully about what he was going to say but when he started to speak, Wilson quickly cut him off. He wasn't going to allow him to talk.

"A few months ago when I was starting to suspect that Julie was cheating on me and you kept insisting that I was having an affair…you just couldn't leave it alone. I needed you to actually listen to me, hell, care about what was going on in my life…I should have known better. And then when I told you that I…needed you to show concern instead of glibness…that I needed to have an actual conversation with you about what was going on…you told me that if I needed that kind of friend that I may have made some deeper errors…," Wilson stopped.

He leaned against the door of his office and shut his eyes, trying to keep control over his emotions, but it was already too late for that; he was in an emotional upheaval, was even close to tears, but he held them back.

When he started talking again his voice was quiet and strained as he spoke. "You just keep pushing and kicking, House. Even when I've been knocked to the ground you just won't let it go. I'm not one of your juniors that you can boss around and I'm not Cuddy, who is forced to work with you. I choose to be with you, I choose to be your friend. But you've always tried to push me away, always tried to make me leave," Wilson's voice was rising again. "And now when you should be asking me if I'm okay, the only thing that you can do is push me further away and make jokes about how I'm feeling, making me feel worse that I already do!"

"News flash House, I'm not one of your damn puzzles! It hurts me…it hurts when you…," Wilson stuttered and then stopped, rubbing his face with his left hand. "You have…," Wilson's voice cracked and when he spoke again it was just above a whisper, "NO idea what I've been going through."

Wilson willed away the tears again. He wasn't going to cry in front of House. Crying showed weakness, and it would just be one more thing that he could tease him about later.

But what he didn't know was that House didn't find what Wilson was saying humorous at all. He had never seen Wilson act this way, never seen him this upset before, ever. He didn't know what to do; he wasn't good at comforting people or showing that he cared.

Wilson turned and reached for the door. He opened it and slammed it behind him, leaving a speechless House sitting alone in Wilson's office.

After a few seconds House stood up quickly and walked out of Wilson's office. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, not finding Wilson anywhere. _Must be nice to have two good legs_, he thought to himself. _Running from situations that make you uncomfortable sure would be easier that way_.


	30. Chapter 30: Turning Point

A/N: To everyone who reviewed last time...THANK YOU!! It always makes my day to find reviews in my email box. I did some research on addiction to morphine and dosages and prices and estimated based on the info I got from the internet, so any errors in regards to that are my fault. As always, Ezraschild you ROCK. Jazelle1996, I'd be lost without you to correct all my screw-ups.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 30: Turning Point

By the time that House got home from the hospital his body was aching for another shot of morphine. Listening to Wilson and seeing him that upset had definitely taken its toll on him. He secretly hated seeing Wilson hurting so badly, but he didn't know how to help him; or even if he could. He pushed his emotions aside, as he always had. Emotions hurt too much. _Feeling_ hurt too much. House had learned a long time ago that it was better if he didn't have to feel them at all.

Of course it didn't help that the morphine was clouding his judgment, as much as he wanted to deny it. If he wanted to figure out what was going on with Wilson, he would have to skip a dose of morphine; and he didn't know if he could wait very long without it. When he was craving it, nothing else seemed to matter except getting relief from the aches and pains that his body was producing naturally to trick him into giving it more drugs.

He knew that he was growing more and more dependent on the morphine, but refused to admit that he was addicted to it. But it was becoming harder and harder to push to the back of his mind how he was feeling. When his body started craving the drugs it would cause pain, signaling his brain that his body needed relief, even if there was no real pain. It was a vicious cycle that House could no longer ignore.

He went into his bedroom feeling like crap, both mentally and physically. His hands were shaking again as he drew up his normal dosage and then added five extra milligrams; he didn't want to feel anything right now. He didn't want to think about what Wilson might have meant when he had said that House had no idea what he had been going through.

He didn't want to think about how he probably wouldn't be able to go back to work for a long time, if at all. He had spoken with Cuddy since his suspension and had tried to reach a compromise with her, but she had made it perfectly clear that until he successfully completed a drug rehab program that he wouldn't be able to return to work.

He had started to worry about the amount of money that he was spending on the drugs. Buying morphine at the rate and price that he had been wasn't cheap, and his bank account was quickly being depleted. He had a decent amount of money saved up, but he had rent and other bills to pay, and he lived in a nice part of town, which wasn't cheap. To make matters worse, Cuddy had put him on medical leave without pay; which meant that sooner or later he would have to find a way to make some money. He knew how to play the stock market and he could always gamble, but it was risky. He needed to come up with a plan; and fast.

The more he thought about the money the more he started to think about how much morphine he was taking. And then Wilson's words came rushing back to him.

"_You aren't invincible, House! You're just as human as everyone else, and you're so deep in denial that you can't even see how sick you are!"_

He remembered the look on Wilson's face when he had said that to him. He had been breathing hard, his hands on his hips, as if to support himself, looking almost tortured and completely terrified.

House shut his eyes. _No, don't think about that_. He held up the syringe and looked at it. _I am _**not **_in denial. I take it because I have to. Wilson's wrong, I'm fine. _He positioned the syringe in between his toes and welcomed the sting as the needle broke his skin. He swallowed hard as the medication started to work its magic.

He set the used syringe down on the table next to his bed and fell back into the pillows. He was breathing deeply, his eyes shut.

_I don't need his help. I don't need anyone's help…_he thought as he started to fall into a drug induced sleep.

But House was deep in denial and he was only fooling himself as he tried to tell himself that he was fine. He refused to acknowledge how badly he hurt when his body was craving his next shot. He pretended not to notice how quickly he had been increasing his dosages, to the point where he was taking almost 200 milligrams a day and he couldn't go more than four hours without it before starting to feel sick and achy. And he would never admit that when he had come home that day after Wilson yelled at him in his office, that it had been a turning point.

It was the first time that he had consciously used the morphine to numb his emotions as well as his physical pain.


	31. Chapter 31: Struggling

A/N: Again I'd like to thank everyone for their WONDERFUL reviews! I'm still suffering from the writer's block and it only seems to be getting worse, so PLEASE bear with me. I know that I'm terrible with the length between reviews, but I'm doing the best that I can right now. The chapters may seem repetitive and stagnant, not going anywhere, but there IS a reason for them and I only hope that you can be patient with me, I assure everyone that soon there will be more "action and drama" but the build-up has to be established before the fireworks can fly. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for being my faithful beta and to Ezraschild, who has been by my side the whole way, helping me whenever I needed it. Wow, that's one long A/N! Sorry!

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 31: Struggling

The next two days Wilson continued to struggle with increasing feelings of hopelessness and exhaustion. He was late to work both days, which raised eyebrows from everyone that he passed by in the hallways. He couldn't even find the energy to shower on either morning. He only wet his hair down in the sink with a squirt bottle, shaved and then put on a fresh work shirt, tie, socks, and pants.

On the second day he had been sitting in his office when he heard a knock at his office door.

"Come in," he said as he put his pen to a chart, pretending to be making notations. He looked up as Cuddy walked through the door.

_Here we go again_, Wilson thought. "Hi, what's up?"

She frowned as she took in his appearance. She walked over to his desk and sat down in one of the chairs without speaking. She looked slightly uncomfortable. "I need to talk to you" she said gently.

Wilson put down his pen.

She looked him right in the eyes.

Wilson sighed. "If it's about me being late, I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I promise."

"It's…not that," Cuddy hesitated.

Wilson gave her a confused look. "What is it then?"

"Some of the other doctors and some of the nurses have come to me," she said. "They're worried about you."

"They don't need to worry," Wilson said smiling. But he wasn't fooling her; she'd been watching him for the last week now and had seen how tired and agitated he had gotten over little things that normally wouldn't have bothered him.

"If something's going on, something that you need to-"

"What can I do to prove to you that nothing's wrong?" Wilson asked, trying to mask his frustration.

"Wilson, please just tell me what's going on, and don't lie because we both know that something _is_ wrong," she said quietly.

Wilson just sat there. What was he supposed to say? That he had gone to see the psychiatrist and he had put him on medication because he was suffering from a mental illness?

"Did you go to see the psychiatrist?" she asked, changing the subject when he didn't answer, and shocking Wilson by practically reading his mind.

"Yes," he replied.

Cuddy gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, what did the doctor say?" she asked slightly concerned.

"Not much," Wilson said. "Basically what I thought he'd say." He wasn't exactly lying; he had known that he was probably depressed before he had even walked into the doctor's office. But the doctor's diagnosis of severe depression had thrown Wilson for a loop, and against his better judgment, he was unwilling to accept the diagnosis. Things weren't that bad. He just needed time.

"Wilson?" he heard her ask him through his thoughts.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "It's confidential," he said slowly. He tried to keep eye contact with her but turned his head slightly to the balcony, beyond her shoulder, fixating on a bird that was perched on the ledge. He slowly crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

She noticed the defensive gesture, and proceeded with caution. "Are you still going?" she asked cautiously.

Wilson realized what he had done and uncrossed his arms. He was now consciously trying to control his body language. He wasn't a moron; he knew what his subtle cues were telling her. He needed to take a deep breath and control himself. "No, I'm not," he said.

"Okay, well, maybe they weren't right for you. Maybe you should find someone else," she said, trying to be helpful by encouraging him to open up a bit. He always used to talk to her about House, about his work, and sometimes even about his failing marriage. She had watched him close up and withdraw from everyone around him. He was beginning to remind her of House by the way that he was reluctant to discuss anything anymore.

"But our deal was that I went once, and if I didn't like it, I didn't have to go back," Wilson clarified. "I went, I kept up my part of the bargain, but I don't want to go back."

"Our deal was that if it didn't work that you'd try something else," she pointed out. "Wilson, I think that you're depressed…and that you've **_been_ **depressed for awhile now. Everyone around you can see it, why can't you?"

He tensed. His stomach started churning. He was feeling trapped again, like a 16 yr-old boy who had gotten caught trying to sneak out of the house at night. _Was it that obvious_? He didn't know what to say to her.

_Think_! _I can't tell her what's going on, that's only going to make things worse. But if I avoid the topic, she's going to know something's up. _

Her eyes were warm and friendly, offering only care and compassion towards the oncologist. "Wilson, talk to me."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he replied barely above a whisper. He failed miserably as he looked into her eyes, trying to relay to her that he was fine.

"Why not?" she asked. His short, vague responses were signaling to her that something was really wrong. _Why didn't he want to talk about it? What was he hiding?_

"Because I just _can't_," he said feeling ashamed once again.

He felt terrible for making everyone worry, but he didn't want them to know what was really wrong, and he didn't know why. Lately it seemed like more and more often his thoughts weren't based on rationality, but solely on his own feelings and emotions.

He knew was that he was suffering from depression and it wasn't his fault, but refusing to accept it and get treatment _was_ his fault. To him, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, it felt like it was a personal weakness. It was just another flaw for him to add to all his other failures that weighed on him daily.

He was a doctor and he knew how incredibly stupid it was to not take his meds and seek help when he knew that he needed it, but it was just too overwhelming for him to even comprehend in his current state of mind. It seemed that trying to get better took more energy and effort than he had to spare.

"What happened at your appointment Wilson?" she asked sternly.

His eyes were sad and weary as he cocked his head to the side slightly and gave her 'that look'; the look that told her that he really didn't want to talk about it. She had seen him use it on House several times, without success, and she wasn't going to let him get away with it either.

"I went and we talked about some stuff. He gave me some suggestions and advice and I took it. Things are just a little crazy right now," he said slowly, gauging her response. _Crazy; probably not the best word to use_, Wilson thought to himself. He hoped that his answer would satisfy her and he wouldn't have to go into detail.

She sighed. "Why didn't you say something?" her voice dripped with concern.

"I didn't think that it was that big a deal, and it's really not," Wilson said simply.

"How long has this been going on?"

"For awhile," he said, again not further elaborating.

"What did the doctor say?"

"I really don't want to talk about this," he said, preparing himself for her response.

"You sound just like House right now, you know that right?"

"It's my problem, I'll deal with it," he said growing defensive.

"And now you sound even more like him," she said sounding amused.

"Look, it's really not that big of a deal," Wilson said again.

She looked at him, noting how tense and uncomfortable he appeared to be. "Take the next couple of days off. Give yourself a break," she urged him.

"I can't, I have patients that need me," Wilson tried to reason with her. He smiled, the best, most assuring smile he could. "I'm okay, I'm doing better."

Cuddy smiled a little, though not completely convinced. "I'm not asking Wilson," she said quietly.

He saw that she wasn't backing down.

"Just a few days," she coaxed. She was just as worried about him as everyone else and felt that if she didn't intervene soon that he would break down completely.

Wilson knew he wasn't going to win. "I'll go…but I don't agree with what you're forcing me to do," he said frustrated, his eyes showing both anger and resentment. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a patient that I need to go see," he said as he stood up and walked out of his office.


	32. Chapter 32: Tug Of War

A/N: I am still cranking these out as best as I can and I really appreciate all the great reviews that I've gotten. Thanks to Ezraschild and Jazelle1996 for listening to my insane ramblings, and to AutumnOak for her wondeful skills as my new beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 32: Tug of War

After talking with Cuddy he had gone into the first bathroom that he had passed on his way to his meeting. He stepped into the first stall, locking it behind him. He flipped the seat and sat down. He didn't know how long he had sat there, thinking about the conversation that had just taken place between him and Cuddy in his office. Her interference had angered and upset him to the point that if he didn't go somewhere to collect his thoughts and calm down, the next person he came into contact with was going to be the victim of some very misdirected rage on his part.

By the time he finally left the bathroom and started walking towards his patient's room, he was as calm as he was going to get and had put on his happy face again. He walked with as much confidence as he could muster into the room where the girl was preparing to get her chemotherapy. He sat with her, they got started, and he didn't leave her side until it was over.

It was difficult, but he managed to keep his frustration and anger bottled inside for the rest of the day while he finished his daily routine. Now, however, as he was in his car driving home he felt it starting to overwhelm him once again.

He entered his apartment and swung his bag off his shoulders and sat it down next to the front door. He carefully took off his leather shoes, placing them side-by-side next to his bag. Mechanically, he walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He hadn't eaten anything all day and although he knew he had to eat something, he didn't have the desire or the energy. After standing there for several seconds, he slammed the door shut.

The anger he felt on the drive home started to course through him with a vengeance. He walked into the living room and started pacing. Two days… he couldn't go back to work for two whole days! He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing: good because it gave him the opportunity to think about things or bad for the same reason.

He paced a few more minutes, thoughts racing through his head. He was angry. Angry at Cuddy, House, himself, Julie… the list went on and on. He couldn't figure out what was happening to him. How had everything in his life been twisted and turned inside out?

He was a doctor. He knew what having depression meant. But his brain just couldn't or wouldn't accept the fact that he might have a mental illness. He knew that it was ridiculous to feel ashamed or embarrassed about being depressed, but the years of being friends with House had obviously affected his perception towards asking for help from others.

The more he paced, the more he grew exhausted, completely worn out and completely defeated. Fighting back the nausea that wouldn't go away, he shuffled over to the couch and sat down slowly.

_I need to do something. I can't keep going on like this; I'm gonna snap. _Desperation was starting to take over his mind. It was a terrible, scary feeling. He wanted to confide in someone, tell someone what was going on. But he was leery of saying anything, especially to Cuddy or House, and they were the only two people that he felt he could even remotely trust.

He sat in silence on his couch trying to figure out what to do. _Should_ he tell someone how he was feeling? _Should_ he go back to the doctor's office and be brutally honest with him about how he had been feeling and what had been happening over the past few weeks?

He thought for a moment. _No..._ He couldn't do that. He didn't think that he could tell the doctor what was going on without incurring bad consequences and he wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as House was. The psychiatrist would surely see right through him.

That was part of Wilson's concerns: that if he told someone about how he was _really_ feeling that they wouldn't understand or they would over exaggerate the situation, only making more problems that he didn't want to deal with. And he certainly couldn't tell anyone that he was periodically having thoughts about hurting himself, even if they were just fleeting thoughts. Just knowing that he was in this state of mind, even thinking about hurting himself frightened him.

His thoughts were like a snowball spinning out of control down a snowy mountain side. They just kept accumulating as they traveled further, as they were allowed to continue; and now the snowball was dangerously swerving out of control with no clear indication to its next destination.

He just wanted things to be back to normal, for him to feel in control again. He couldn't process what was happening sometimes, even simple tasks needed to be broken down into parts for him to complete them. His overworked mind almost couldn't tell the difference anymore between what was normal and what wasn't, and his ability to rationalize was slowly slipping away from him. He felt lost and completely alone. He knew he couldn't talk to House about it and he didn't feel comfortable telling his doctor, so that left him relying on only himself to try and sort through the mess that his life had become.

He realized that he needed to take control of the situation. He needed to take better care of himself. And that all started with a nice hot shower and something to eat.

Slowly he stood up and walked into his bedroom. He grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt out of his closet, and then went to his dresser. He fished a pair of clean socks and black silk boxers from the top drawer, adding them to the pile of clean clothes on his bed. Then he picked up all the clothes and went into his bathroom.

He deposited the clothes on the top of the toilet tank and then reached into the shower and turned on the hot water. He adjusted the temperature and let it run as he got undressed. Flinching as the hot water stung his back, he stepped into the shower. At first he simply stood in the stream of water, letting it loosen his tense muscles. After a few minutes he finally relaxed and washed his hair and body and then shut off the water.

He pushed the shower curtain aside and grabbed the oversized, soft bath towel off the towel bar next to the shower. He stood still, water dripping everywhere as he ran the towel through his hair. He wrapped the towel around himself and stayed in the shower, unable to summon the energy to finish drying himself off.

Afterwards he still felt completely physically drained. _How is it possible that I'm this tired after taking a shower?_ Wilson thought. He felt even more pathetic than before and couldn't help but wonder if he was just becoming lazy.

He stood motionless for several minutes before he realized that he was still dripping wet and had started shivering. He stepped carefully out of the shower and onto the bath rug. He sighed deeply as he walked over in front of his sink to look at himself in the mirror.

He actually looked better than he felt, and he wondered again if that was a good thing or a bad thing. His hair was still wet, sticking out here and there and the bags under his eyes were still visible, especially in the harsh light of his bathroom.

He put his hands palm down on each edge of the sink and looked closer into the mirror. He watched himself blink and then shut his eyes. Slowly he opened them and then opened the door to his medicine cabinet and pulled out a tiny amber prescription bottle.

Still shivering with water dripping down his bare legs and arms, he stared down at the bottle in his left hand. He put it in between his index finger and his thumb and shook it. Slowly he switched positions and gripped it in his fist, looking at his name and the name of the medication on the label.

He slowly popped the white top off and shook out one pill into his right palm and then replaced the top and sat it back on the shelf in his medicine cabinet. He placed the pill on the counter as he turned on the water, filling a small plastic cup with water. He stared down at the pill, hesitating before finally picking it up and placing it in his mouth. He quickly took a gulp of water and swallowed.

He finally dressed himself and then went out into the living room and crashed on the couch. He didn't like the idea of taking the antidepressants, but knew that they would help with some of his physical symptoms: mainly his appetite, insomnia, loss of concentration, and anxiety.

Once he started thinking about his situation again he started to feel even more trapped and angry. He was feeling pissed off at everyone for not leaving him alone, but at the same time he wished that someone would realize just how badly he was hurting. He wished someone would realize that he was unable to ask for help.

He shifted positions on the couch trying to find one that was comfortable. God, his body ached so badly. He had hoped that the shower would help, and it had, but only for the short time while he was warm and relaxed as he stood under the showerhead. He now felt like he had fallen out of a second story window.

He was still nauseous since he talked to Cuddy, but after sitting on the couch watching television for over two hours he finally decided that he should force himself to eat something. He went into the kitchen and made himself two slices of toast with jelly and a glass of milk. The first few bites went down easily but his stomach protested loudly as soon as the food settled in his stomach. He willed them to stay down and was relieved when they did.

He finished eating and took the plate and glass into the kitchen, setting them in the sink. Then he walked into his bedroom and crawled into bed, his whole body aching. _When is this going to end? _His body started to tense more and he wanted so badly to allow himself to cry, but he fought back the tears. He breathed out a shaky breath and shut his eyes.

He started thinking about how he was a failure as a husband, doctor, brother, and friend. He thought about all his regrets, all the things that he wished he could change. And it was only making him feel worse.

He felt guilty, ashamed, and stupid for not taking his medication and allowing himself to become so depressed that he had actually thought about hurting himself and for being unable to trust anyone enough to ask for help. But as the days had gone by it had become harder for him to function, and he had felt like he couldn't stop himself.

He rolled over onto his back. He needed to try and keep his mind off of the bad thoughts that kept assaulting his mind. For several hours into the night he fought with his mind until he was finally able to fall into a restless sleep.

When he woke up the next morning he actually felt a little rested.

He got up and shuffled into the bathroom. The first thing he did was reach into his medicine cabinet and take his pill with a small glass of water. Then he used the toilet and then brushed his teeth.

He went out into the living room and watched some TV for a while and then ate a fried egg and some orange juice. He continued to watch TV for most of the morning and then took a shower a little after noon. He was feeling even better and decided that he was ready to talk to House about the argument they had in his office the other day.

He wanted to tell someone everything, yet wanted them to never find out. He knew that he needed to care about what was happening to him, but he almost didn't care anymore. He wanted someone to come and see that something was wrong and rescue him, help him, because he was unable to help himself. He was angry at people for asking questions and worrying, for trying to help him. It was a vicious tug of war, with Wilson being pulled at from every direction.

He took the long way to House's apartment to have time to think about what he was going to say. He parked the car along the curb in front of House's apartment and took a deep breath as he opened the driver's side door.


	33. Chapter 33: Point Of No Return

A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the support and reviews! Thanks to my personal savior Ezraschild and my good friend Jazelle1996. Also to Autumnoak my incredible beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 33: Point Of No Return

Wilson walked up to the main entrance, removed his key and unlocked the door. Wilson knew that House wasn't expecting him so he stood in front of 221B for a moment before raising his left hand to knock softly.

His hand was a few inches from the door when it suddenly swung open. Expecting to see House, Wilson was surprised when he came face to face with a man in a dark suit a few inches shorter than him. He was about Wilson's age, or maybe a little younger; he was broad and muscular. He had on an expensive looking dress jacket and shoes

A confused look spread across Wilson's face. "Um, hi," he said.

"Hey, just on my way out," the man said as he motioned for him to step aside. Wilson did, stepping to his right, giving the man room; he seemed to be in a hurry to get out the front door.

Wilson looked into the apartment and found it odd that he didn't see House anywhere. He wasn't lounging on the couch and it seemed strange that House would just let someone find his own way out. "Wait," Wilson said quickly.

The man stopped and turned. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry," Wilson started. "But do I know you?"

The man chuckled. "No," he vaguely replied. He had relaxed a little, obviously not finding Wilson to be as much of a threat as he had first thought. "I stop in occasionally," he said casually.

The man was making Wilson uneasy and that nervousness was only magnified by the fact that House hadn't come to see what was going on in the hallway in front of his apartment. Wilson looked again just past the door, there was no sound coming from inside and it was almost completely dark in the living room. The only light that Wilson could see was shining from the hallway.

"Where is he?" Wilson finally asked.

"He's inside," the man answered. Wilson turned and made a step towards the door. "But I would just go home, man. He's…pretty out of it."

Wilson's head whipped towards the man. "What do you mean?" he asked as fear and panic started to grip him. Something wasn't right. This situation didn't feel right.

When the man smirked but didn't answer Wilson's panic only grew. "Who are you?" he asked forcefully, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

"You look like you're a smart guy, you figure it out," the guy offered.

House was nowhere to be found and the guy had said that he was out of it. Out of it…Wilson was suddenly hit with a wave of anger as he realized who the man was. "You're…you're his…d-dealer…aren't you?" he asked, stuttering.

The man grinned even more. "I prefer pharmaceutical entrepreneur," he said.

He knew that House had been getting the morphine from somewhere. He knew that he hadn't resorted to stealing and had tried to reassure himself that he wasn't getting it from an unreliable source. Sadly, seeing the man standing before him, he knew his answer. He prayed that House hadn't been sharing needles with anyone and had been checking to make sure that the seal on the morphine vials were in tact before using them. He was also dreading it, but he hoped that House had only been using morphine and hadn't been experimenting with any other drugs.

Suddenly Wilson wanted nothing more than to punch the man in his face. He stood up straight, making himself appear several inches taller than the other man, trying to intimidate him. "You _stay away_ from him, you hear me?!" Wilson growled.

"Easy there," the man said. "I was just sitting at home minding my own business when _he_ called _me_."

"Well of course he did! He's wanted drugs and knew that you had them!" Wilson exclaimed. It hurt him to say those words so openly and freely about his best friend, but in the past few weeks he had fully accepted the fact that House was in the grasp of a full blown drug addiction. He stood glaring at the man. "Leave," he said coldly. "I need to go check on him," Wilson said with bitterness in his voice and he turned again to enter the apartment.

"You don't need to check on him," the man said nonchalantly, not appearing to be concerned with House. "He's in his bedroom, crashed out. He's fine."

Wilson sighed.

"Don't be too worried if he sleeps for awhile though," the man added with a smug look on his face, continuing to goad Wilson.

Wilson didn't like the tone of his voice. "Why?" Wilson asked. He stared down coldly at the man. "What did you give him?"

The man sneered. He seemed to be entertained by Wilson's obviously growing distress. "Morphine is expensive…and sometimes it's hard to get…if you catch my drift. We had to improvise again tonight."

Wilson's brain was going into overload and it took everything he had to not scream at the man.

"Don't worry; I didn't give him anything that he wasn't already practically _begging_ for."

_Improvise? Begging_… "Why you son of a bit-"

Wilson raised his left arm in blind fury, threatening to swing.

"Trust me, you don't want to do that," the man said quickly in a hushed voice. "Right now, your buddy in there has a limp and some pain," he said harshly. He reached down and flipped the right side of his jacket back to reveal a gun in a shoulder holster. Wilson drew in a shaky breath. "You hurt me or give me any kind of trouble, and I mean _any kind_, and I'll make sure that his limp is the least of his problems."

He watched Wilson for his reaction. Wilson stood unable to speak, fearing for House's life.

"Do we have an understanding?" the man asked.

Wilson nodded and managed to whisper a shaky, "Yes."

The man smiled, knowing that he had been taken seriously. "Good," he said, amused, as he turned and walked out the main door to House's apartment building. Wilson was left momentarily stunned as he watched the man in his silver Jeep Cherokee and drive off.

Slowly Wilson walked through House's front door and shut it behind him, reaching down to turn the lock in the doorknob and then the deadbolt. He turned around and leaned up against the heavy front door, trying to relax himself.

He stood for several seconds and then walked slowly from the living room into the hallway and down to House's bedroom door. It was open and Wilson saw that House was lying in bed with the covers pulled up to his waist; he appeared to be asleep. He stood for a moment at the door just watching his friend, trying not to let anger and panic overcome him as he remembered what the drug dealer had told him.

As Wilson stepped into the room and approached the bed he saw that House was in a light blue Jimmy Eat World t-shirt that looked at least one size too big for him. He was breathing slowly, just on the brink of sleep. He was still losing weight and Wilson could see the marks on House's arm where he had been shooting up; tiny dots of dried blood had formed on the inside of his elbow, his arm too thin and pale in the light from the bedside lamp.

He looked so helpless, so vulnerable; something that Wilson had never associated House as being. He walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down gently.

"House?" he asked softly.

He got no response from the man lying next to him. As his eyes drifted to the used syringe, beside several unused, on the nightstand – he saw a half full vial of a clear fluid and an amber prescription bottle full of different sized tablets – Wilson started to panic.

He leaned in slightly and nudged him as he spoke into his ear. "House," he said a little more forcefully.

He was relieved when House's eyes opened slowly and then watched as House struggled to stay awake and coherent. When their eyes finally met, he saw that his pupils were so dilated that only a small, light blue ring could be seen around a large black center. "J'my?" he asked with some effort.

"Hey," Wilson said softly. He sat patiently, wanting to make House feel relaxed. He watched as House clumsily pulled himself upright and then slumped back against the mountain of pillows piled behind him.

"What're y' doin' here?" he asked, his eyes shutting slowly before opening again.

"I just came by to talk, say hi," Wilson said.

House smiled. "That's good. You bein' here is good."

Wilson's heart almost broke as he watched House. He didn't even sound like the House that he had once known-his voice was slurred, slow, almost childish. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open and his train of thought had obviously derailed quite some time ago. Wilson had never seen House that doped to the gills with drugs.

"Yeah, me being here is good," Wilson answered back, reassuring both himself and House. He shifted a little, wanting to sit closer to him so that House knew how concerned Wilson really was. Not knowing how House would react to the drugs, however, – whatever they might be – he was leery of being too close to him. Instead House just stared absent-mindedly at a spot on the wall in front of the bed.

"You okay?" Wilson asked. He knew he might be opening up a can of worms, but he couldn't resist. He was worried. He was having trouble ignoring the drugs sitting next to the bed and needed to find out what House had taken.

"Yeah, 'm okay," House garbled, but didn't take his eyes off the wall.

"Hey, look at me," Wilson said, a little demanding.

House struggled to turn his attention to Wilson and his head fell back on the pillow as he finally turned to acknowledge Wilson. His blue eyes met distressed, worried brown eyes. It was almost too much for Wilson to see his friend in this state and he could see the embarrassment and shame in House's eyes.

With great effort, House tried to use his last bit of energy to focus on Wilson and failed, slowly shutting his eyes and turning away from him. Wilson sighed, stood up, reached over and picked up the prescription bottle off the nightstand. He sat back down on the bed and dumped the pills into his hand. He quickly identified the pills as a combination of Vicodin and Oxycontin. Putting them back in the bottle, he held onto them tightly as his eyes rested on the vial.

He picked up the vial and held it in his hand. There was part of a label on the vial identifying what the liquid inside was: Fentanyl. _Jesus_, Wilson thought to himself. He looked over at House, who still had his head turned away from him. _I'm so sorry House. I'm sorry that this is happening to you. _

As he stood up to put the pills and vial back on the table, House turned suddenly.

"Give those to me!" he said weakly, reaching for the drugs. "Those 'r mine!" he hissed as he tried to snatch the vial out of Wilson's hand.

With a lump in his throat he held them out of House's reach. "I'm just gonna set them back on the table House," he said softly. He looked down at his best friend. "God, why does this have to be so hard?"

House gave him a fuzzy, confused look. "Give 'em back," he pleaded.

Wilson placed the drugs back on the night stand and then sat down on the bed next to him again. "House…I want you to rest a bit and when you wake up we need to talk about some stuff," he said.

House's eyes never left the vial and the pills. He didn't seem to even be able to hear Wilson anymore.

"Okay?" Wilson asked again gently. There was no reply-he just kept staring at the drugs. Wilson waved his hand in front of House's line of vision, in front of his eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, House turned and locked eyes with Wilson.

"I don't wanna…," House sighed and shut his eyes. His breathing hitched.

Wilson's brow furrowed. "What? You don't wanna what, House?"

"N'thing, never mind," House mumbled.

"Come on, talk to me. It's okay. I'm not mad," he said, trying to get his friend to talk to him, trying to convince himself that he wasn't angry or that House wasn't in trouble.

When House opened up his eyes again and looked ahead of him once more, Wilson's heart plummeted. "I hate…feeling like this. Make me…stop." The words came out strangled, barely above a whisper, but Wilson heard them.

Wilson swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "It's okay, buddy," he said, reaching down to pull the blanket up over House's chest, tucking him in a bit. House just laid back and let Wilson take care of him.

Their eyes met again. "Just try and rest…okay?" Wilson pleaded.

Wilson was upset beyond anything that he'd ever felt before and it was a terrible, helpless feeling. He needed to get away from House. He couldn't handle what he was feeling and he didn't know how much more of this he could stand before he broke down. And he didn't want to do it in front of House in his current condition. House started to protest, but Wilson interrupted him. "House, please, just…sleep. I'm not going anywhere, the drugs aren't going anywhere. I promise."

Clouded eyes searched tortured brown eyes frantically for reassurance. When it was finally found, House closed his eyes and whispered, "'kay."

Almost frozen by the helplessness he felt, Wilson reluctantly remained by his bedside until long after House had fallen into a drug induced sleep. Then slowly, quietly he picked up the pills, the vial of Fentanyl, and the unused syringes and placed them in House's medicine cabinet, out of his best friend's reach.


	34. Chapter 34: Damned If You Do

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has continued to review. You guys make it all worth it. Thanks to Ezraschild, who's the best. Thanks to Jazelle1996 for her friendship and to Autumnoak for her help as my new beta. And Melanie…bite me.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 34: Damned If You Do

By the time that Wilson finally walked out of House's bathroom he was tired and was actually a little hungry. He removed his shoes and jacket and tossed them carelessly next to the couch on the way into the kitchen. He looked around, finally settling on the fridge, but when he opened it he only found outdated milk, some cheese and butter, a whole row of assorted condiments, and a six-pack of beer.

He quickly considered making a grilled cheese if he could find some bread, but instead grabbed a beer, not feeling like making the effort to prepare something. He opened the beer and walked over to the cupboard where House normally kept most of his food. It was almost empty: only a few cans of soup, peanut butter, a bag of potato chips, and some macaroni and cheese were left. He shut the cupboard and took another sip of his beer as he looked around the apartment.

He saw dishes sitting unwashed in the sink, probably spawning new life forms, and noticed that the trash sitting next to the refrigerator was starting to smell. With a sigh, he walked over, reached in and tied up the garbage can liner. He thought about putting in a new one but didn't feel that he had the energy, so he left it sitting next to the fridge to be taken out later.

He walked into the living room and made a closer inspection of the apartment, which revealed that it was an absolute disaster area. Books, journals, CDS, DVDS, and other various House-related items were strewn about everywhere, on the coffee table, on the couch, next to where House normally sat, even on the floor.

One thing the apartment seemed to be missing was any sign of House having eaten much recently. There were a few take out containers, but he found no signs of any pizza boxes or any other food containers, and Wilson hadn't seen anything when he had tied the garbage shut.

_Well that's great, just great. _He thought to himself_. That answers my question about whether or not he has any appetite anymore or has been bothering to try and eat. _

He walked over to the kitchen sink and sighed softly, put down his beer, and placed his palms on the sink edge, leaning forward as he shut his eyes. He then took another drink of his beer, looking out the window. He knew that he shouldn't be drinking, considering the medications he was on and the fact that he was depressed, but it felt so good to let some of the tension free as he tried to relax.

He noticed that it was still completely quiet in the apartment as he stood there for almost a minute, finishing his beer and listening for signs that House might have awoken. When none came he grabbed another bottle from the fridge and sat down, flipping on the television. He turned it on the sports channel, just letting the mindless program provide background noise that filled the apartment.

But despite the distraction and two more beers, he couldn't relax for long. He kept walking back into the bedroom and checking on House. He'd sit on the bed, listen to make sure that his respirations were even, and check that his pulse was steady and strong. Looking at House he knew this had to stop, but he didn't know how to help him, or even if he was strong enough to help.

He walked back into the living room, sat down on the couch, and slowly reached for his jacket. Fishing out his cell phone, he flipped it open and went to speed dial.

She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello, this is Dr. Cuddy," she said pleasantly. Wilson looked at the dial on his watch, it was only 5:46 p.m.; she was probably still at the hospital. His hunch was confirmed when he heard someone in the background - probably a nurse, ask Cuddy about a patient.

Wilson hesitated, "Cuddy, it's Wilson," he said, trying not to sound so upset.

She hadn't glanced at the caller I.D., but immediately sensed the tension in his voice. "What's wrong?" He could still hear voices in the background and then the sound of a door shutting and silence. "Are you okay? Is House okay?"

"I'm…over at House's apartment. I found him drugged to the gills, almost unconscious in his bed," he explained.

"Is he okay?" she asked softly.

"Yeah, but I was wondering if you could come over here after you're done at the hospital." He knew that House would probably be pissed about him inviting Cuddy over, but he didn't know what else to do at this point.

Wilson could hear her shuffling stuff around, presumably on her desk, in the background.

"Cuddy…do you remember before when you said that if I needed to talk, that I could talk to you?"

"Yes," she replied, listening closely to his voice. He sounded so helpless and lost. "Of course I remember."

"Well…I need to talk." No other words were necessary. She had been worried when he had started withdrawing from everyone, and she knew how difficult it must be for him to finally admit that he needed help.

"I can be there in about ten minutes. I'm just about done here." She replied, surprised but relieved that he actually wanted to talk to her about what had been going on.

"Good, okay, that'll work," he said, pausing as his stomach growled loudly. "Hey, can you also pick up some food?" He asked. "Nothing fancy, just stop by the cafeteria and get some sandwiches and sodas or something? I think I'm gonna stay for awhile and he doesn't have any food here; the fridge and cupboards are bare." He looked over to the coffee table and decided not to mention the fact that he had consumed three beers already on an empty stomach.

"Sure, that's no problem."

"Thanks, I'll talk to you then," he said.

"Talk to you soon," she said.

After he heard her hang up, he sat zoning for a moment.

"Who were you talking to?" a gruff voice from the hallway asked.

Startled, Wilson jumped at the sound of House's voice. He flipped the cell phone shut and turned to see House leaning up again the doorframe at the entrance of his bedroom, his cane propped against his left leg. He instantly wondered how much of their conversation he had heard.

"I called Cuddy and asked her to bring over some food," he said as he stood up. Cautiously he approached House. "I didn't want to leave you and I was getting hungry," he added. "How are you feeling?"

House shrugged and Wilson watched as he shifted, putting his back up against the wall to take more of his weight. Slowly his head fell back against the wall and he shut his eyes, clearly in pain already.

"Are you in pain right now?" Wilson asked, unable to help himself. It had only been about four hours since House had taken any drugs.

House scoffed softly and then turned his head to look at Wilson.

"I'm okay," he answered and then looked into his room, to the nightstand. The drugs were gone. "Did you take them?"

Surprised, Wilson hesitated. "Yeah, I took them," he said.

"Where are they?" House demanded as he grabbed his cane and started to advance towards him.

Wilson took a step back. "You just woke up; do you really want to start arguing already?"

"Where are they?" he asked again.

Wilson backed away and then turned and walked into the living room, his heart starting to pound, adrenaline rushing through his body. House followed closely behind. Once he was on the other side of the couch, which provided a buffer between the two of them, Wilson turned and spoke.

"I opened a syringe and emptied the vial in the sink and then broke it in the wastebasket…and emptied the pills into the toilet and flushed them," Wilson said, hoping that House wouldn't see through his lie. He tried to avoid anxiously glancing towards the bathroom, where the drugs were sitting safely on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet.

House's eyes narrowed. "No you didn't. Where are they?" He asked stepping closer.

Wilson stood motionless staring at House.

"I'm not kidding Wilson!" he growled and Wilson had to resist the urge to flinch and the tone and volume of his voice.

Wilson braced himself for House's reaction. "I'm not kidding either; I got rid of all of it as soon as I was sure you were asleep," he said. He had originally intended on destroying the drugs exactly as he had described to House, but then realized that if House woke up in pain or started to detox sooner than anticipated, it was best to keep them around.

They stood for a moment eyeing each other before House erupted. "Jesus Christ Wilson! How could you do that?!" he asked as he started pacing.

Wilson warily took a step towards him. "You told me that you wanted me to help you stop," he said simply.

House stopped and turned. "What?"

"Look House, let's just go sit down..." Wilson suggested. When House didn't move, but only stood coldly looking at him he decided to approach the topic from a different angle. "You _need_ to stop House. You said so yourself earlier, before you passed out from the massive amount of drugs in your system," he said, enunciating each word to try and get his point across.

"Wilson!" House shouted. "Whatever I said earlier, I wasn't thinking clearly! Couldn't you see that?"

Wilson put his hands on his hips. "Yeah House, I could see that!" he retorted, his voice rising. "And you're right; you weren't thinking clearly, in fact, you barely knew what planet you were on! You didn't even seem to recognize me at first!"

House scoffed and walked into the kitchen. Wilson followed quickly behind him.

He watched as House opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "Oh that's nice! No drugs, so let's get drunk instead!"

House opened the beer, took a long swig and then looked back into the fridge, and then out into the living room where the three empty bottles sat on the coffee table.

He pointed to the table. "Like you're one to talk."

"There's nothing else in your house to eat or drink!" he said, exasperated.

House took another swig. "Just go home Wilson."

Wilson shook his head. "No, I'm not going anywhere…you can't keep doing this House. It's destroying you and everyone around you!"

"Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" he asked as he glanced down at his wristwatch. He took another swig of his beer and then reached for the cordless phone resting in its charger on the kitchen counter. "Have you been watching after school specials again?"

Wilson ignored his remark and walked towards him. "Who are you calling?"

House gave him an icy glare as he entered in some numbers, hung up the phone and continued drinking his beer.

Wilson let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't believe this! You just paged your dealer didn't you?"

House slammed down the bottle on the kitchen counter causing Wilson to jump. "What do you expect me to do when you've just wasted over three-hundred fucking dollars worth of drugs down my plumbing!"

Wilson stood staring at him, momentarily speechless as House continued to rant and rave.

"Okay, okay, let's just calm down," he said, trying to de-fuse the situation.

"Calm down? Calm down! You're joking right?"

"House, look…"

"No, you look… better yet," House said, re-thinking his statement, "Just get out!" he shouted.

Wilson felt his stomach drop. _I need to get him some help. I need to do this tonight. He can't wait any longer. _But he didn't know if he had the energy to keep fighting, to keep arguing like this. He was starting to feel dizzy and a little light-headed, presumably from the beers.

"I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "That's what you want isn't it? You want everyone to just leave so that you'll have an excuse to self destruct?"

House stood glaring at him.

Wilson looked him in the eyes. "Well I'm not leaving you House. I'm not going to just walk away and let you do this. You need help, and I'm going to make sure that I do everything in my power to see that you get it."

"The Hell you are!" House yelled as he took a step forward.

Wilson put his hands out in front of him. "Don't do this, don't burn down this last bridge," he whispered, watching as House advanced on him, forcing Wilson to take small steps back towards the wooden table at the end of the kitchen. He continued to look into House's eyes; feeling sad that he saw them angry and full of pain.

Wilson started to speak but House stepped forward and shoved him hard into the table. Wilson hunched over and then let out a pained groan as he tried to stand.

"Still not leaving," Wilson said softly, gripping the table for support.

"You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted, as he grabbed a hold of Wilson.

As Wilson let go of the table, he struggled to stay standing as the dizziness and nausea grew worse. He could feel his face becoming flushed, and could feel sweat forming on his forehead.

"House, stop! You're hurting me!" Wilson gasped as he felt his breathing start to become shallow and faster. House's long, thin fingers were digging into his upper arms. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around House's arms, as best as he could, trying to pry him off. As he made contact with House's arms, he noticed that his fingers felt numb, almost prickly.

He instinctively shut his eyes and felt the incredible urge to swallow, breathing deeply though his nose as he tried to push the new sensations assaulting him away. His heart rate had increased, but his chest rose and fell normally.

He opened his eyes and looked into House's eyes, silently pleading for his friend to stop.

Before he knew what was happening next, the shaking stopped and he felt House pushing him, knocking him off balance. A gasp filled the apartment as Wilson fell to the floor with a thud.

As Wilson lay there, he curled instinctively up in a ball, trying to protect himself from anything House might possibly do next to him. However, both men were unaware of Cuddy standing in the front doorway watching them. She had heard the yelling, and fearing the worst, opened the door just in time to see House shove Wilson, knocking him to the floor. She stood motionless, her mouth agape, not believing what she was witnessing.

She hesitated for only a moment before knocking loudly and then opened the door the rest of the way, making it appear that she had just gotten there. She saw House turn and look at her, surprised.

Then she saw Wilson, barely moving, on the kitchen floor. She quickly sat the food down on the table, taking note of the empty beers before rushing over to him.

"What happened?" she exclaimed as she dropped to the floor beside him, while House remained standing only feet away.

She looked down at Wilson. "Wilson, what happened?" she asked again, more softly.

When he didn't answer, didn't even acknowledge her, she looked over at House, who was still red faced, his eyes cold and void of emotion.

"House! What the hell's going on?" she yelled. She wanted him to admit to what he had done to Wilson.

But House stood silent, watching the scene as it unfolded further. Cuddy bent down and tried to examine Wilson, but was quickly pushed away.

"I'm okay," he said as he slowly stood up. It felt odd to breathe, and that tingle had spread to the rest of his body. Now he had the strongest urge to just get away… get away from everyone. The room felt so small and he felt like his every move was being watched.

House and Cuddy watched as he got to his feet without a word and fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.


	35. Chapter 35: Unexpected Reactions

A/N: I'm still trying to get this finished. I'm so sorry about making everyone wait and I'm so glad for those of you who have decided to stay for the entire story. Thanks as always to all my friends and to Magie05 for all her help.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 35: Unexpected Reactions

He hadn't even registered getting up and walking to the bathroom. In those few seconds his mind had simply shut down, and now he found himself standing in House's bathroom, his back pressing against the bathroom door. He stood, trying to will away the tears as he heard House and Cuddy in the living room arguing.

He didn't know how long he stood there before his will finally broke down and he slid slowly down the door, making a dull thump as he hit the linolium. He sat there, staring ahead at the tub, arms wrapped protectively around his knees, as he felt his emotions and feelings start to overtake him. All the loneliness, helplessness, confusion, and fear that he'd been bottling up for so long came bubbling to the surface.

He tried to push it back down, but there was no use. He clenched his jaw as he felt his eyes start to sting with hot tears. He shut his eyes and as the first tear from his left eye started to trail down his cheek. Swallowing rapidly, he began to cry. Breathing through his nose, he got to his feet and turned the water on full in House's sink, providing background noise. Hopefully Cuddy and House wouldn't hear him.

Slumping back down to the floor he wrapped his arms around his knees again, rocking slowly, his eyes shut and he quietly sobbed. He felt tingly again and sick to his stomach. He could feel his face, red and flushed, and was embarrassed by his reaction.

He just wanted to disappear. He didn't want to go back out into the living room and face them. He didn't want to have to deal with anything anymore. Everything hurt too much. His mind was working in overtime, thinking way too rapidly… it was exhausting him.

Combined with his lack of sleep, his exhaustion only made more of his carefully erected walls come crumbling down. He started crying harder, unable to stop himself. He leaned forward and lowered his head into the crook of his arm, trying to muffle his sobs.

In the living room Cuddy and House heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob and realized that something was wrong. They stopped arguing momentarily, instead centering in on Wilson, who still hadn't come out of the bathroom.

They listened as they approached the bathroom door cautiously, and could hear running water, and muffled crying. They quickly looked at each other before House stepped forward and knocked loudly on the door, and then listened. They both heard shuffling around, and then silence. The crying had stopped.

House turned and looked at Cuddy, who motioned for him to try knocking again. He raised his hand and knocked again.

"Wilson?"

Nothing. No response.

"Wilson, open the door. If I don't get to hide in the bathroom, neither do you," he said.

Inside Wilson felt like he was coming undone, one raw nerve at a time and he couldn't allow them to see him like this…and as a result, he was starting to feel panicky. He could feel the adrenaline starting to course through his body and again, just like before he had the incredible urge to just run. The only thing that he could think of was that he needed to get away from it all.

A loud knocking pierced through his thoughts. Then he heard House's voice.

"Wilson, open the door. NOW," he said.

Wilson knew that he was probably having an anxiety attack, but it wasn't like the ones he had heard most people describe. There was no sense of immediate doom, no tightening of his chest, or heart attack-like symptoms. However, he felt like he was in sensory overload, which in turn was causing him to shut down so that he didn't have to feel anything.

He turned and slowly reached up, unlocking the door, remaining on the floor as House opened the door. He kept his eyes down, facing the floor; he couldn't bear to look at either of them. _I know what House's thinking and I don't think I can handle him taunting and teasing me right now. _

House stood at the doorway as Cuddy walked past him and entered, crouching down in front of Wilson. She put her hands gently on his leg, just above his knees and squeezed. As she did Wilson turned his head to the right, trying to block out the tactile sensation of her hands, as well as to avoid the eye contact she was trying to establish.

"Wilson," she whispered softly.

No response. He just sat there staring at the tub, breathing hard, trying to compose himself. Then he suddenly stood up and brushed House's arm as he walked past him out into the living room. She walked out into the living room behind him and watched as he grabbed his coat, putting it on as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He kept his face down, avoiding eye contact, but Cuddy could see the slightly wet trail where the tears had run down his cheeks.

House had gone into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

"What happened?" she asked tentatively.

Wilson laughed softly. "Doesn't really matter does it?" He said as he started for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.

"Home," Wilson stated flatly.

"Like HELL you are," House said as he quickly re-entered the room and walked over to the table, pointing at the three empty beer bottles on the table.

"Oh, don't act like you care!" Wilson suddenly erupted, his chest heaving.

Cuddy stood watching the two, standing silently, staring at each other. After a few seconds House threw his hands up in mock frustration.

"Fine, go. See if I care," he said, feigning interest as he sat carefully down on the couch, grabbing the remote and turned it to the travel channel.

"House!" Cuddy exclaimed turning to him, frustrated when House simply shrugged his shoulders.

Wilson reached for the doorknob and had the door half-way open when Cuddy started yelling.

"What are you gonna do? You can hardly walk and stand let alone drive! You're gonna end up wrapped around a tree!" Cuddy said raising her voice.

Wilson turned quickly. "Yeah well, maybe it would be better for everyone else if I did!!" he yelled, his voice cracking. He was trying to sound irritated but Cuddy could hear the desperation in his voice.

Speechless, Cuddy and House watched, as he slammed the apartment door and the outer door shut with all his strength.

Cuddy turned to House. "Well…aren't you gonna go after him?" she asked incredulously.

House shrugged and pointed to his leg. "Hurts too much," he said and then focused back on the television again.

Cuddy shook her head and stared down at him. Infuriated, she bolted out the front door after Wilson.

She caught up with him just as he was getting his car door unlocked.

"Wilson, wait!" she said, putting her hand on the door so that he couldn't get in and shut it.

Wilson sighed. "What? What do you want me to say?!" he growled.

Cuddy took a step back. "He's just being House, you know that," she said, trying to reason and calm him down.

"I'm tired of being there for him and never getting anything in return," Wilson said softly, finally looking at her, his eyes pleading. He was silently hinting to her that he needed someone to be there for _him_ for once. "I thought that things would be okay, that things would get better if I just tried hard enough. I was wrong and I… **can't** do this anymore," he said quietly as he started to get into the car. Cuddy detected that it wasn't even the situation with House that he was talking about anymore.

"Please don't go," she said softly. His reaction to the whole situation and his sudden outburst were worrying her, especially his comment before fleeing the apartment.

He stopped and turned. "I just need to be alone," he said harshly, feeling bad for snapping at her. He could feel the flush of heat creeping back into his cheeks and down his neck, the anxious feeling coming back, and he just wanted to get away.

Her instincts were telling her that something was very wrong. She needed to keep him there until she knew what it was. "You need to talk about this. You need to get this out," she coaxed.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter," he said sounding defeated.

"It matters to me," she said. She was getting more worried by the minute. She watched him as he slumped up against the car, as if keeping himself standing were almost too much. "What you said in there...," she asked slowly, hesitating, "Have you been thinking about hurting yourself?" she asked quietly.

Wilson felt his body reacting involuntarily to her question, could feel himself blushing even more. He resisted fidgeting with his keys, but he was clearly uncomfortable with her concern. "No, of course not," he replied, trying to keep eye contact, hoping she believed him.

His body language only made her worry more. She gently grabbed his arm, squeezing. "Wilson, I'm really worried about you, about the way you're acting."

"You don't have to worry," he said as he tried to pull away from her grip, only making her squeeze harder, making the need for him to get away intensify. He clenched his jaw, as the tears started to well again. _I need to get away_, he thought as he roughly jerked his arm away from her. "I'm fine, really. I just need some space," he said as he got into his car.

Not wanting to push him, feeling defeated, Cuddy stepped away and watched as he started the car and drove off quickly down the street.


	36. Chapter 36: Negotiations

A/N: Hope everyone's still hanging in there. As always thanks to Ezraschild and Jazelle for being my personal cheerleaders and to Corrine for being as obsessed as me and being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 36: Negotiations

Cuddy walked back into the apartment and shut the door. House was sitting on the couch, staring intently the television, even though he had turned the sound off. She walked over and stood in front of him, blocking his view.

"Stop staring and do something," she snapped.

"You know, normally I would be totally into you ordering me around and dominating me in my living room, but tonight's not your lucky night," he said sarcastically, leering at her chest.

Cuddy put her hands on her hips, giving him her most serious look. "I can't believe that you aren't even concerned about him," she hissed as she sat down next to him, motioning to the empty beer bottles.

"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself," he nonchalantly replied. He was trying to ignore her, block everything out, but all he could think about was how much pain he was starting to feel. His body was aching, a definite sign that withdrawal was starting to kick in.

"He's your friend!" Cuddy said, jabbing at him with her finger. "Even in that drugged-out haze of yours you have to be able to see that something's really wrong."

House shrugged. "Maybe, but I don't know what you expect me to do about it," he replied.

"Well, you could start by being a supportive, concerned friend," she said, rolling her eyes again when he looked at her blankly. "Ask him how he's doing…ask him if he wants to talk," she suggested.

"While I'm at it, I'll also invite him over for a slumber party. Wilson can show me how to paint our nails, do my hair, and then we'll gossip about the hot Dean's cleavage," he retorted.

Cuddy was losing her patience. She needed him to see that things were a lot worse than he realized.

"Whether you want to accept it or not, he cares about you," she said. "He's had a lot to deal with lately, and I don't think that on top of everything else, that he needs to feel responsible for you, for not being able to help you."

"I don't need his help!" he yelled. He stood up and started pacing. Sitting on the couch, not moving, was only magnifying his aching pains.

"He's your best friend; he feels like this is his fault," she yelled back. "You know how he is."

"Oh great, blame me for his problems. You _do know_ that he was _screwed up_ before we became friends?!" House growled as he felt the leg worsening, and then walked away from her, aggravated when she got up and followed him into the kitchen.

"I can't believe that you would talk about him like that," she hissed.

"No, what you can't believe is the fact that if you look hard enough, what I say is actually true," he snapped back. "To everyone who just glances at him, he's Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Wonderful. What they don't want to face, what **you** don't want to face, is that he's just as messed up as I am. He just hides it because he cares too much about what others think of him."

"Well, lately, he's been trying to hide a lot more than you think," she said, hinting to House about Wilson's behavior. She didn't know if he knew anything about his erratic, out-of-character behavior, or the visits to the psychiatrist.

House snapped his fingers. "I **knew** that he was really a woman! There's no way that any normal man is that hygienic, the manicures…and the amount of time he spends blow drying his hair…," House said trailing off.

Cuddy was quickly losing patience. "You're the one person who could possibly help him, and you're too selfish to do anything about it!" she said, voice full of venom.

House turned to face her, face solemn. "I can't help anyone. You took that ability away from me when you suspended me from work."

She looked back at him, sensing the urgency in his voice, seeing the sadness in his eyes. She gently shook her head, sighing softly. "What can I do…," she asked. "What do you want me to do?"

She watched him as his posture got rigid again.

"You wanna help?

House looked at her, torn between voicing what he thought was the right thing to say and what he _wanted_ to say. "Either call in an order for some pain meds, or get out," he said.

"You know that I can't do that," she whispered.

"Then get out," he said as he quickly walked past her, down the hallway, and finally into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Cuddy watched helplessly as he slammed the door. Then she put the food that she had brought into the refrigerator before writing him a brief note. She stuck it on top of the coffee table and quietly let herself out.

On the drive back home, she kept replaying House's words over and over in her head. She had heard the silent plea that he was unable to voice aloud and knew that she needed to find a way to help him. She planned on canceling the majority of her appointments when she arrived at the hospital the next day, to give herself time to start contacting colleagues, friends, and centers who specialized in chronic pain management, hoping to find a way to help House.

When she got home she ate a simple dinner and watched some TV to unwind before retiring to bed. However, Wilson's panic attack and emotional outburst had her worried that he was more depressed than she had originally suspected. His anger and anxiety had been almost frightening, and she couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that he was barely managing to keep from falling apart.

Eventually, she fell into a restless sleep and when she got to the hospital the next morning she put her plan into action. First she canceled her morning appointments and got information to help House, then in the afternoon during her free time she started doing research online about depression and anxiety for Wilson.


	37. Chapter 37: Hopelessness

A/N: Thanks go to Magie05 for her patience and all her help, through the months when I had given up on this story, she held on. I can't guarantee that this'll be updated nearly as often as I want it to, but if you review and let me know your thoughts, that would help motivate me greatly.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 37: Hopelessness

After he had kicked Cuddy out, he had lain in bed listening to her as she moved around the apartment. After he was sure she had left, he limped out into the living room and carefully lowered himself back down onto the couch, barely able to resist the urge to curl up into a ball as tightly as he could.

As the minutes passed by he was becoming incredibly restless and agitated, which was always something that happened to him when he went too long without pain medication. He struggled to concentrate on the television, having chosen a National Geographic's special on sharks as his main form of distraction.

When the show was over he happened to glance at the clock on the VCR below the TV and realized that it had been almost two hours since he had sent the page to his dealer and he still hadn't called back. He was beginning to worry that his dealer may have run into some trouble, considering that he usually returned his page within fifteen minutes or so.

He remained on the couch until he could no longer stand the pain and slowly, painfully, limped back to his bedroom, barely making it without collapsing in the hallway. He sighed with relief as he stretched out, lying on his back. His left hip was starting to ache from bearing most of his weight while he had been standing and despite the warm temperature, he shivered as the sweaty clamminess and nausea of withdrawal began to set in.

He was only in bed for a few minutes before he felt the nausea began to worsen. Mustering all the energy that he had left, he managed to make it into the bathroom, nearly tripping over the rug as he fell hard to his knees just in time to gag and bring up a little bile into the toilet.

He was breathing hard, exhausted from the exertion, and having forgotten his cane, it only magnified his pain. He leaned against the wall as he grabbed a piece of toilet paper from the back of the toilet, noticing his hand trembling. He could feel the sweat beading up, running down his face and his neck.

He slowly stood up and limped over to the medicine cabinet, yanking a towel from the towel bar and thrusting it under the faucet as he turned on the cold water. He brought the towel to his face and neck, shutting his eyes, trying to enjoy the coolness. After a few minutes he threw the towel at the clothes hamper, missing by several feet, and jerked open the medicine cabinet, hoping to find something to minimize the withdrawals.

His eyes got wide when he saw the syringe, vial of Fentynyl and the bottle of pills lying on the bottom shelf, instantly recognizing them as the ones that Wilson had claimed to have confiscated and destroyed.

Without hesitation, he frantically grabbed the bottle, fumbling with the lid before getting it off and dumping three pills into his palm. He put them in his mouth, and almost gagged as he chewed them up, the bitter, chalky tablets sticking to his teeth. He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the stream of water, bringing it to his mouth and swallowing.

He stood for a moment, shifting most of his weight on his left leg as he fought the urge to vomit. He could feel his hip throbbing, as he grabbed the Fentynyl and syringe from the medicine cabinet. He put down the toilet seat and sat down gingerly. With shaking hands he drew up a half-dose, wishing that he could take more, but not daring to, not knowing when or where he would be able to get more.

He examined his left wrist, finding the vein with ease. The sharp prick was worth it, as he slowly pushed the drug into his blood stream. He shuddered with relief, slouching forward, as he felt it began to work almost immediately. It only took a few moments before he was able to make his way back into the bedroom.

He took the drug paraphernalia with him, setting it next to his bed for when he needed it again. The lack of pain was a huge relief; normally when his pain level was this high he would lie there for hours, struggling until he was completely exhausted. With the stronger pain medication, he lay there, warm and comfortable. Slowly he felt his body relaxing, and before he even realized it, he was starting to fall asleep.

He thought about all that had happened recently as he drew in a slow breath, remembering the words Cuddy had spoken only a few hours earlier.

"_What can I do…What do you want me to do?"_

He thought about all that had happened within the last few months, his bike accident, his escalating drug use, and his denial of Wilson's strange behavior.

_There's nothing you can do,_ he thought hopelessly as his eyes shut.


	38. Chapter 38: Motivation

A/N: Thanks for reading, please give feedback, either by private message or review. I've lost all of my beta readers, I probably drove them away…or crazy or possibly both. So for now, it's just me.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 38: Motivation

House had spent the last four days avoiding Cuddy and Wilson's phone calls and was actually surprised when neither of them came breaking down his door to check and see if he was okay. He had been careful as he slowly rationed out the remaining drugs he had found hidden in the medicine cabinet, but on the morning of the fourth day he began to run out.

That morning the pain in his leg, along with mild body aches are what woke him up. It was early, probably around 6:30 a.m., the sun barely starting to come up. He shifted slightly and could feel the hangover, flu-like effects that normally accompanied a significant decrease in dosage of pain medication.

Moving his leg at all caused excruciating pain, and he hoped that he would be able to get by with a dose of Oxycontin or Vicodin instead of using the last of the Fentynyl. Reaching down he massaged his leg until he felt like the pain had subsided enough for him to try and move again. Carefully, he reached over, grabbing the Ziploc bag of pills that were sitting on the night table beside his bed.

He felt pathetic, unable to even move before getting a dose of pain medication into his system. He plucked an Oxy and two Vicodin from the bag and dry swallowed them all at once with a little difficulty when he realized that he had nothing to wash them down with within his reach.

He had to wait almost a half and hour before the pills began to take effect. Despite the meds and his cane, he was cautious as he lowered himself off of the large sleigh bed, checking to make sure that his leg would not buckle under him before taking a few tentative steps towards the bathroom.

He used the toilet and then limped over to the sink, catching a glance in the mirror. He looked so old, even to his own eyes, as he saw the wrinkles and lines on his face. He was wearing a t-shirt and noticed dry flecks of blood still on his wrist where he had last injected the Fentynyl.

He picked up the towel that he had used before, wet it again, and gently washed the blood away. Surprisingly, the drugs were actually doing a pretty good job of keeping the pain under control. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing down a few pieces that were sticking up.

He could smell the layer of sweat on his body and in his clothes and decided to try and take a shower. He was still shaky on his legs and after some debate and hesitation, he struggled as he pulled out the showering chair from its hiding spot, where it had been since shortly after the infarction had occurred. He sat in the chair under the hot spray, lingering longer than usual, enjoying the feel of muscle aches dissipating and the feeling of being clean.

After dressing he ordered a few groceries from the local market and called and arranged for someone to come in and clean the neglected apartment that afternoon. He looked around the apartment, messy and covered in dust and realized how much the drugs had cost him…his job, his only friend, and if he continued down the road he was headed, his life.

He waited until the groceries were delivered and then decided to call down to the hospital and talk to Cuddy. He was hoping that he could talk her into letting him return to work. Even if it was only part-time or for consults he knew that he needed to be challenged in order to get out of this slump, and working was the only way to accomplish that.

He looked out the window at the rising sun; it was going to be a warm breezy day, perfect for a bike ride. However his bike was still in the shop and he had allowed his lawyer to take care of all of the paperwork and other legal matters involving the accident and since the accident hadn't been his fault, the person who had hit him had assumed all responsibility for the incident. Luckily the man had felt guilty and had offered to pay, not only for any repairs to the bike, but anything else that House may have needed as a result of the accident, including missed salary and any medical bills.

House pondered for a moment the fact that although he'd been hit by a car, thrown from his motorcycle, and almost ran over, he'd survived with only a concussion, some scrapes and bruises and a few cracked ribs.

_Why couldn't I have gotten hurt enough to get some good drugs out of all of this?_

He had spent most of his time at home isolated since his leave of absence, and it had been filled with increasing boredom and self-pity. He found that being unable to work without anything to serve as entertainment or a distraction only fueled his growing dependence on the medications. Despite his behavior, Wilson's visits were actually something that he had looked forward to, but lately even Wilson had been avoiding him.

He picked up the phone and dialed Cuddy's direct extension, disappointed when he got her voicemail. Reluctantly he called a few more times and waited until about noon. and then, when she still hadn't returned his calls, he decided to email her, not really wanting to drive down to the hospital and track her down.

When he opened up his email account he saw several messages from her and one from Wilson.

_Well that explains why neither of them has been by,_ he thought as he opened the first email from Cuddy.

It was several pages long and described, in detail, a procedure that Cuddy had been researching involving using a continuous intravenous supply of Ketamine to induce a 7-day long coma, where the patients are monitored and supported by a ventilator.

The article went on to explain that although not yet approved by the F.D.A. there has been early testing outside of the U.S. that has shown to temporarily, sometimes permanently reduce or eliminate chronic pain by "re-booting" the brain's pain receptors.

He read down the article, intrigued, but still very hesitant as he read the side effects, which included reports of moderate to severe hallucinations, dissociation, inebriation and a sensation that patients were not in their bodies.

He also automatically concluded that putting him under in a coma would also eliminate the need for him to go through rehab or a painful drug withdrawal.

He sat for a moment staring at the article before shutting off his computer and quickly, but carefully slipping on his Nike's and grabbing his keys. He opened the door, stepped out onto the sidewalk and walked the short distance to his car, parked along the opposite curb on the corner of his apartment building. It started with a small sputter before he shifted it into drive.

Along the drive on the way to the hospital his plan kept replaying in his head. He would agree to Cuddy's proposition. He would get the Ketamine treatment…but at what cost?


	39. Chapter 39: Signs Of Hope And Despair

A/N: So I got a new beta and so far so good. Let me know how you like the story please, reviews=motivation.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 39: Signs Of Hope And Despair

A lot had happened in the past ten hours and as Cuddy drove back to New Jersey she replayed Wilson's visit earlier in the day, over in her head. He had come to her just before House had, looking exhausted and stressed. He sat down across from her and then wordlessly pulled out some papers from his bag and handed them to her. She curiously looked down at the papers bearing the hospital's Human Resources Department stamp at the top. Reading further down she saw that they were a written request for a two week temporary leave of absence, citing personal reasons.

She looked down at the papers and then up at him. He sat mute, almost statue-like. She turned to the next page and signed where her signature was required then gently placed the document down in front of him.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" she asked gently.

Wilson squirmed a little in his seat, the first movement since he'd sat down. "Not really," he said softly. He let out a small puff of air, almost a sigh, and then turned his head to look out the window.

"I just need some time to figure some stuff out," he cryptically explained. "Stuff that I can't think about when I'm stressed out and here 14 hours out of the day," he added as he closed his eyes, as if merely admitting that simple fact made him tired.

"I could lighten your case load a little more, you could give the biopsies and one-on-one patient care to your juniors. You've trained them to be the best and they're more than capable of helping out. Only do consults and paperwork," she offered. She didn't want him to feel like he was a burden or that he wasn't doing his fair share of work, department heads were created specifically to delegate responsibility.

"No..." he growled, opening his eyes. "That's…people will start talking and besides…that's not going to be enough," he hesitated.

Cuddy smiled gently, tilting her head to the side. "People are already talking and I want to help you, but I can't if you can't tell me what's wrong," she urged. She chose her words carefully, knowing he was on edge. She chose "can't", not "won't", knowing that this was incredibly difficult for him, and it wasn't a matter of him withholding information so much as unable to articulate what he was feeling and needing. She also didn't want him to feel worse about asking for help than he already did.

She remembered how hard he had worked as an intern, then a resident, before gaining his much coveted position as head of Oncology at the hospital. His job had caused him problems at home and despite that he worked hard to be good at his job, to be self-reliant and efficient. Early on he had learned to be incredibly companionate, but not allow himself to be overwhelmed by the immense emotional situations associated with being an oncology specialist.

"I don't know anymore," he answered back, a tinge of anger creeping into his voice at the admittance. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't feel like he **could** talk about it anymore. Like it wasn't a choice, it just was what it was…a part of his life now.

"I've been taking medication…to try and alleviate some of my… symptoms," he admitted.

Cuddy looked at him sympathetically. She had suspected that he had been put on medication; it was what she would have done, had she been his doctor. Thinking back to their past conversations she realized that the medication didn't seem to be helping him and that out of all of the obstacles that she'd seen him face, this one was proving to be one of the hardest.

She wanted him to trust her, they were after all friends, as well as colleagues, but she didn't want to pry and risk him withdrawing more and pushing her away.

"And it's not helping…the medication?"

Wilson swallowed hard. Instantly without warning, his breathing was starting to speed up and he could feel his blood pumping harder through his veins. He felt trapped, nervous, suffocated and could feel the anxiety literally rising inside him. He gripped the side arms on the chair and tried to breath slower, feeling dizzy and nauseated. He hated feeling this helpless, this hopeless, over the mere mention of the topic. The tears were starting to form at his eyes, and his throat was involuntarily closing shut, as he strained, struggling to retain his composure.

"No," he whispered raggedly. He scooped up the papers, "I… thanks for," he choked out as he gestured towards the signed papers, shaking them in his left hand as he turned and walked out of her office.

She didn't have time, despite her being concerned about him, to go running after him. Not more than five minutes after Wilson's hasty departure, House had shown up outside her office, explaining that he had read her email and was hesitantly considering her offer to be involved in the first official U.S. F.D.A. drug trial for the use of Ketamine in a medically induced coma, which had shown promising results at completely or partially eliminating most types of chronic nerve pain.

He had sat anxiously as Cuddy had made several phone calls to some colleagues that she knew at John Hopkins in Baltimore, where the trial would be taking place. She had to talk to the head research technician and a specialist plus two other doctors before they even gave her approval to fax over House's entire medical history. It would be examined thoroughly and would have to be verified before House could even begin the initial application process.

They had put a rush on it as a favor to Cuddy, simply because the trial started in two days. Cuddy sent House home, telling him that she'd call him as soon as she'd heard anything back from Baltimore. Even House was impressed when four and a half hours later he had gotten the phone call saying that he needed to immediately pack his bags, and that Cuddy would be picking him up in a little over an hour to take him to Baltimore.

The drive to John Hopkins was surprisingly quiet, both of them anxious and nervous. After they arrived more paperwork was filled out and then House was taken back into an examination room. Another hour later the doctor had emerged letting Cuddy know that everything had checked out and that House had been admitted. He was in a room being prepped and in two days he would start receiving a continuous dose of Ketamine as he was induced into a medically controlled coma for seven days.

Due to obligations back at her own hospital she couldn't stay with him, but she gave them both her and Wilson's contact information and told them to keep them updated on even the smallest of changes or situations. House had tried to call him on their way to Baltimore, but had reached his answering machine.

After Stacy had left House he had made Wilson his medical proxy, explaining that although his mother was the next logical choice, he didn't want there to be any chance that his father would be allowed to influence her decision in anything regarding his health. So by default, if something did go wrong, Wilson would need to be notified, and able to make medical decisions for his best friend. However Cuddy feared that, given his current state of mind, that was something that Wilson definitely didn't need to be worrying about.

She had waited until returning to the hospital before calling Wilson again, to give him an update, but was disappointed to get his answering machine as well. She left a brief but detailed message explaining what had happened in the past few hours along with a message to expect progress reports from Baltimore and to call her if he needed anything.


	40. Chapter 40: Shattered

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 40: Shattered

He hadn't really been all that surprised when he'd heard both the messages left by House and Cuddy about House's sudden decision to undergo a risky medical procedure. House pulled that kind of crap all the time, at least this time hopefully it would have a positive outcome.

Wilson had received several updates from the hospital informing him that House's progress and recovery were coming along quicker than anyone had anticipated. He had pulled through the procedure with little complication. When he'd woken up, he had demanded ice cream.

Diagnostic tests and a physical confirmed that he was no longer in pain and was cooperating in daily physical therapy.

House would be returning to New Jersey within the next few days, and begin working light duty half days only. Cuddy arranged a written contract that had been between herself, House and the hospital legal services department. It stated that he would continue to see a physical therapist once a month at the hospital and then continue doing his therapy at home. He would also be monitored and undergo diagnostic tests on both his thigh and his brain function, and would be required to give random urine samples to prove that he wasn't taking any unauthorized medications.

Regarding Wilson's two week absence, it had gone by quicker than he'd anticipated. He had two days before he was supposed to return to work and he didn't feel any better—if anything he felt worse. Although he was taking his medication, it didn't seem to be helping. Despite his best intentions to stay on the treatment regimen, he hadn't rescheduled with his psychiatrist.

He knew a lot about depression. He'd had to do a psychiatric rotation in medical school and had worked in the free clinic at the hospital. House had experienced a mild case of it when Stacy left, and often his patients experienced varying degrees of it while undergoing their diagnosis and treatment.

Wilson knew that hiding in his apartment, withdrawing from friends, family, and work were some of the worst things that he could do to try and feel better. But he was getting to the point where he just didn't care about what people thought anymore.

At first he'd tried to maintain appearances by not allowing his personal issues to affect his work. He met all his work responsibilities, without looking disheveled, choked down his lunch at his desk, and forced himself to socialize with the other staff. However, he quickly found that the worse he felt, the less he cared about things and the more emotional and sensitive he became over the slightest incident.

The two weeks had been spent mostly in bed, staring at the wall or laying awake listening to music. The insomnia had gotten worse, almost unbearable. He would spend over twenty-four hours awake without sleep, and even when he did sleep, he would suddenly awaken and be unable to fall back asleep. He was now struggling with everything, utterly exhausted, his mind raced constantly and every small noise heard throughout the apartment or outside sent his heart rate skyrocketing.

Showering, eating, watching television, paying bills, keeping up on laundry and the housework had all been neglected. Even answering the phone had become something that he dreaded, his paranoia and anxiety growing stronger and stronger each day.

Knowing he had many resources available to help him, all he had to do what pick up the phone. He had recommended organizations and self-help groups, along with seeing a psychiatrist to many of his patients to help them cope. Pamphlets helped them find people to come by and do the laundry or cleaning, along with any other household chores that needed done.

However, when he thought about calling to get the services set up, his anxiety kicked in and it just seemed impossible. As the days passed, he became so depressed that he was becoming desperate for a solution. He started thinking again, about how easy it would be, given that he was a doctor, to just end his life. No pain, no worry, no fear, no crippling loss of sense of purpose.

Even as he thought about it**,** he realized that he couldn't even take his own life...he had zero energy, having gone the last day without eating anything; only occasionally pouring himself a glass of water to take his anti-depressant medication. He felt weak and nauseous, and knew that he was getting dehydrated when walking to go to the bathroom became difficult.

It was only a little past noon, but his body was already aching, his lower back and hips, mostly. He lay in bed, with the window open; it was a warm, breezy afternoon, just staring out the window at the sun.

He tried to breathe in the warm air but only noticed that he smelled. Actually, the entire room probably stunk with the dirty clothes and crumbs from what little food he'd been able to consume lying on the dresser. The bed sheets and comforter hadn't been washed in weeks and he had started having nightmares at night that had left him waking up drenched in sweat, shaking from the frightening images.

He ran a finger through his greasy hair as he glanced up to see his anti-depressant medication sitting in the bottle on the dresser. He wondered what else he had in his medicine cabinet, if there was anything that he could take with them to cause an overdose. He rolled to the end of the bed and got up and walked into the bathroom. He opened the door on the medicine cabinet, disappointed to find only a few aspirin and some antibiotics from when he'd had a sinus infection last year.

Closing the cabinet door, he looked at his reflection, and truly, honestly hated the person looking back at him. He hated the loneliness, the weakness, the denial, and the fear that consumed him every minute of the day. He felt like he was looking at a stranger.

Before he even realized it, tears were starting to form and the sting that accompanied them slowly built up. He fought them back as he sat down Indian style on the bathroom floor by the edge of the tub, wrapped his arms around himself as he began to rock slowly back and forth. His chest felt tight as he let out a small whimper, followed by a ragged, hushed sob. He tried to calm down but that only made it worse, and before he knew what was happening, he was crying uncontrollably.

He kept crying until he was physically exhausted, quiet sobs wracking his body. Slowly, unsteadily, he stood up and turned on the faucet, cupping his hands under the cold water stream. He raised his hands to his mouth, gulping down the water. Again his eyes came upon his reflection and he peered back at himself, bloodshot eyes, puffy face, tear tracks running down his cheeks.

He grabbed the cabinet door and slammed it as hard as he could. The mirror shattered into hundreds of pieces, some landing on the counter or in the sink, some landing on the floor or on top of his feet. He looked down and grabbed a large piece of mirror and thought to himself how easy it would be to just slice open his arms and let the pain overwhelm him until he passed out.

The thoughts continued to get worse as he imagined it in his head. Highly detailed images appeared, each one gorier than the last, until he couldn't take it anymore. Then he thought about how distraught his family, friends, and co-workers would be, and knew that he couldn't do that to them. He threw down the mirror shard and carefully stepped around the glass as he walked out into the living room.

Shaking, he withdrew an appointment card from his wallet and dialed his psychiatrist's number.


	41. Chapter 41: Session Two

Thanks to all my loyal readers and to those new ones that give me motivation and hope with every encouraging word they say. You guys make my day!

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 41: Session Two

It took a few seconds for the receptionist to transfer his call back to the doctor's phone. Wilson was relieved that she hadn't put him on hold, although the desperate tone in his voice may have had something to do with that.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson, I was surprised when Lindsey told me that you were calling," Dr. Keel said.

Wilson took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. "I need to see you, sometime today if you can fit me in," he added.

"Why? What's going on?" the doctor asked. "Is everything okay?"

Wilson avoided the question and vaguely added, "I'd rather not try and discuss it over the phone."

"Okay," the doctor said. "Let's see if I have anywhere that I can squeeze you in," he said hopefully. Wilson sat silently waiting on the other end while the doctor looked over his schedule. "Um, looks like I can see you in about two hours, I had a cancellation, unfortunately I don't have any immediate openings, but I'd like you to come in as soon as you can."

"Are you sure that's okay?" Wilson asked hopeful.

"Sure, it's not a problem. Can you be here around two thirty?"

That was hours from now and Wilson could feel apprehension and anxiety building. "That's going to have to do."

The doctor hesitated, "Are you okay?"

"I'm…," Wilson hesitated, "I'm upset."

"Are you going to be okay until the appointment time?" the doctor asked.

That question surprised Wilson and sent his anxiety and heartbeat into overdrive. He paused before answering, debating how much he wanted to divulge to the doctor. "I think I'll be okay, I'll head out now and just wait in the lobby," he said, feeling foolish as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Have you been thinking about hurting yourself or trying to committ suicide?" the doctor asked. "Because if you have been, I can send someone to get you and take you to the emergency room…it's not good for you to drive in that state of mind," he added.

Wilson started to panic. "No, it's okay, I don't want anyone coming to get me. I can drive."

"Okay," the doctor said hesitantly. "I can recommend a very good phone number for a distress line if you need to talk before the appointment, but If you're sure that you're okay, I'll see you in a few hours."

Relieved Wilson sighed. "Okay, I'll see you then," and hung up the phone.

Before he could think about anything else, he grabbed his wallet and keys and left the apartment, headed for the hospital. However along the drive he kept getting the overwhelming urge to drive into oncoming traffic or drive over an overpass or bridge, or into a tree.

Trying to calm him breathing he opened all the windows letting the air in and turned on some up-beat music. That helped a little and he made it to the hospital in one piece. He sat in his car until it was close to time for his appointment.

He sat in the waiting room, clearly nervous and almost left a few times, but each time the secretary seemed to sense his distress and comforted him, telling him that the doctor would be with him shortly.

She handed him a small questionnaire to fill out. Basic questions about his current mental state of mind and he took his time filling out the form. He was so engrossed in the form that he jumped when his name was called and he was told that the doctor was ready to see him.

He slowly stood, feeling drained already and made his way down the hallway into the doctor's office.

Dr. Keel smiled as he entered and told him to take a seat anywhere that he would like. This time Wilson choose the leather couch, folding his legs under his body as he wrapped his arms around himself, practically curling up into a ball. The doctor recognized it as a defensive position and made a note of it on the chart.

He stood from his chair behind his desk and walked towards Wilson. "Do you mind if I sit in the chair across from you?" he asked gently.

Wilson cleared his throat, "No, I don't mind."

The doctor sat down. "Okay, let's get started then. What brings you here today on such short notice?"

"I don't know where to start. All I know is that things aren't getting any better and I don't know what to do anymore," he said quickly.

"Okay, well, why don't I ask simple questions since you seem to be having trouble expressing your needs and feelings today and we'll see how it goes from there?" the doctor offered. "I'm also going to use the questionnaire that you filled out to help me decide what to talk about, okay?"

Wilson thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

The doctor looked down at the paper and noted that Wilson had marked ten on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, on most of his questions, including the one about suicidal urges, ideation, or attempts.

"So by the looks of it from this sheet, things aren't going to well for you right now. How's your job? Have you been taking the prescription I wrote?"

Wilson sighed, "I haven't been to work. I took a two week leave of absence to try and get ahold of things. Try to see if the meds were going to work and figure things out."

"And I take it that didn't go so well judging by your demeanor today?"

"I tried," Wilson said quietly. "I really, really did. But it just didn't work. I'm taking the meds, but nothing's helping. I don't want to leave my apartment, hell, I don't want to leave my bed, I'm not eating, not showering, the place's a mess, I've been avoiding friends and phone calls…I just…," Wilson stopped, feeling the tears coming. He tried to calm himself but found that he was having trouble breathing. He quickly uncurled and stood up.

The doctor recognized the panic attack in it's early stage and did his best to try and calm Wilson down, but nothing he said or did seemed to work. When Wilson started wheezing the doctor called his secretary to request a shot of Ativan as soon as possible, Wilson appeared on the verge of hyper-ventilating.

He quickly explained to Wilson what was about to happen and then grabbed him by the arms and steered him back over to the couch. Wilson was wheezing, stammering and mumbling, and crying by time the shot arrived. He wasn't even aware of what was happening as the doctor quickly snapped on some gloves and used a sterilization pad to clean the area before he gave Wilson the shot directly into his vein.

Wilson felt the effects slowly taking place and felt embarrassed and weak. He sat in relief as the medication worked. About ten minutes later he felt calm enough to speak.

"Thank you for…what you did," he said awkwardly, not making eye contact.

"Dr. Wilson what just happened has me very concerned. Your mental state of mind is very fragile right now. I don't think that the meds are working."

"Do you think I need a different med or a higher dose?" Wilson asked.

"You've indicated that you've been having suicidal urges and ideation. Have you been thinking about a plan…and I need you to be honest," the doctor stressed.

Wilson flinched at the word "suicide" and the doctor noticed. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Just vague, random thoughts like before or are the thoughts getting worse," the doctor asked gently again, treading on thin ice.

Wilson shut his eyes. "It's worse. It's almost constant. I broke the medicine cabinet mirror in my bathroom today, on accident," he added, "and my first thought was to just shred my arms and bleed out," Wilson said shaking. "I've thought about other stuff too, even researched stuff online."

Dr. Keel jotted down a few notes. "I'm glad that you're being honest with me, but it also makes me incredibly worried about you. With most patients that admit that they have a plan and are actively suicidal and in immediate danger…I recommend inpatient commitment for observation-"

"No!" Wilson cut him off. "I, no, I can't do that." Starting to feel trapped he stood up, not knowing where he was heading.

"Dr. Wilson, I know this is upsetting to hear, but sometimes in these situations monitoring to get the correct dosage of medication and intense therapy are needed to keep you from finding yourself in a crisis situation."

"I can't go inpatient," Wilson pleaded. "I understand what you're saying. As a doctor I've recommended hospitalization a few times to a few of my patients, but…," Wilson paused trying to think of how to explain the situation. He turned back towards the psychiatrist and took a few steps back towards the couch. "I can't risk my practice, I can't lose the faith and trust of my boss, my co-workers, my patients…my friends," he said softly.

"You might lose far more if you don't look at this situation and give it all the seriousness that it deserves," Dr. Keel said. "Please come and sit back down and we'll talk about it," he coaxed.

Wilson hesitated, but slowly, reluctantly sat back down on the couch.

"Tell me why you feel like you can't be admitted? Is it the confinement? Or the stigma attached to it, or something else?"

Wilson looked the doctor straight in the eyes, "All of the above."

"James, you're sick. Right now you don't know what's best for you. You need to rely on me and the other doctors to help you until you're well enough to help yourself."

Tears started forming in Wilson's eyes as he fought to maintain composure.

"I think that I need to call my boss Dr. Cuddy. House currently has my medical proxy, but he's in Baltimore and isn't in any condition to be making decisions for himself, let alone me," Wilson explained.

"That sounds like a good idea, it's good to keep her informed. She sounds like she's a good friend and having her input might make this easier," Dr. Keel added.

Wilson's heartbeat quickened as he hit the number for Cuddy's speed dial. When she picked up he told her what was going on and that she needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Sighing with relief after a few minutes of conversation Wilson hung up.

"She said she'll be here in about a half an hour," he said.

The doctor smiled reassuringly. "We'll be waiting for her."


End file.
